Jehane Markham
Frank Sinatra l
Frank Sinatra
the name itself is like a long romance
the way you sang the words
sweet as plums
I wanted to climb inside your mouth.
You could have eaten me right up
a singing father
with woebegone shoulders
you made a cordial out of your ‘O’s.
If love is some kind of dissolving
I wanted to melt into the vibrato of your vocal chords
to be carried, to be carried in your arms.
But there was nobody there
just the cold linen armchair
the shiny cover of the long playing record
and the curious pain of imagined love.
Page(s) 94
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