Portal to Proust
poem by Paris Morel
On wanting to be friends with a dead French writer.
(You) the erotic white lily of homosexuality.
(You) with your moth-bitten neckties.
(You) the trespasser of my dreams.
(You) with your skull of violet feathers.
Why did you fly from the shrubbery
In Search of Lost Time?
Why did you burst the pale-yellow
bubble of my sun?
Look, I’m sorry for blunting my fingers on the worship wheel, but you must know I’d weave you a castle from a pair of silk curtains; place mugs of spice-plum tea on your desk.
Proust, I know you’re busy misting the jade-green leaves of your orchids…
but won’t you show me the starlit statues of Paris?
Won’t you lead me beneath your historical arches?
© 2018 Paris Morel
Paris Morel
Paris Morel is a graduate from the University of Kent. She’s also the host of Sea Breeze Poetry and co-editor of Dissonance Magazine.
Join the Discussion
Please ensure all comments abide by the Thanet Writers Comments Policy