Cronin, M. T.C

English

Journals @ The Mount

My Own Pompeii The day I saw her She was a tall slender tower With projecting balconies Calling me to prayer Of that earthy volcanic stuff That would one day bury me In a fine and forever silent ash But how was I To know she was made She was in a dressing room And with red satin Converted the unfinished facade M.T.C. Cronin Into one of the most imposing In the ancient city I took her for coffee In that dress And she ordered wine And sent back the cake Crystal cherries she said Would be better off Being chandeliers At dusk I was drunk And her voice was endlessly titillating It was what happens When your desires become words My heart fluttered Like a palm-leaf house My hands like day lilies White and trembling Waited for her to ask And then she took me through Her portal and together We climbed her stairs To a magnificent and stately room Close to her I felt the heat of fever Or imagination She affected me as if by fire I wanted so much to be warm again To feel my heart Expanding into death 

My Own Pompeii

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My Own Pompeii

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Journals @ The Mount