Sir and Lady Real / Incubi by Kathryn Lasseter

Sir and Lady Real

Curiously marked creatures

      that slink and slouch by night.

How they gravitate to the cobra shed,

      moisten and glisten in response to 

owl hoots.

 

Whither is the zither of their metered measure?

 

I am frightened by coils and coiling,

      slimy undulations in the mossy 

garden, overgrown like untended Eden.

 

I planted a wild rose there once,

      wild because I didn’t really plant it.

It sprang forth from my grubby

      outstretched hand like a bad faerie

turned Tinkerbelle.

 

 

 

 

Incubi

 

On dusky evenings--

strangers linger in dim reaches

of palpitating pasts and presents

reaching for me

or the hem of my gown

as if to make off with

all my loose ends.

 

Waking up in dawn’s dew

my aching fingers stretch 

out for shadow lovers

offering soft lips, unfanged,

insatiable.

 

Kathryn Lasseter lives in Oregon and enjoys walking under tall trees. She has poems in Winged Penny Review, You Might Need to Hear This, BarBar, Heimat Review and other journals.