To The Bat Who Ate A Lion

Already I miss it, "Be that as it may",
The 3 A.M. light under the bedroom door,
Your fingers on the violin, the safety chirp of
Your midlife crisis car, the longest, most
Intelligent explanations of things completely
Mistaken, your tangent about advertising being
Mostly voodoo, your whimpery panting against
The back of my neck, your cry of "Don't move,
It's too good."
I miss anticipating your hands on me from across
White linen and crystal, your tease-barking at
The dog, your hiccup after pears, high pitched
Recount of the latest speeding ticket, copper
Cup of Kahlua and coffee, casual perch, ankle
Of your crossed leg touching mine, the hotel
Robe thrown on for room service, your
Fully clothed business voice on the phone, the
Darting eyes of a racing mind, the sound of your
Shiny black shoes on the staticky rug, your hands
Behind head for a yawn, your mock smile of
Shock and amusement, the snap of your spoon
Cracking the creme brulee,
The lion you trained to chase me
Holding its hot mouth tamely around my head,
My tight French twist tickling its tonsils.

Rebecca Lu Kiernan

If you've any comments on this poem, Rebecca Lu Kiernan would be pleased to hear from you.