The wind whittles wood like the spider tickles toes
And toast is no midnight snack
The kiss sounds so welcome
that it may inundate the pestering mums of its muse,
and still be obliged before the crowd
But what song was playing as our mouths collided?
And why do I feel I need to know?
As there was born change to the color of my love,
for you and you (yes, the fickle few);
sugar from a slue of salts
The wedding was white
until clumsy made her entrance,
with that diminishing bottle of broken-red wine
But the rain made it fashionable,
and no one knew we cried
(if you exclude the ladybug, that is)
The last dance is mine,
and I kiss the feet which speculate with the floor
Busy-body(s) and page-turner(s)
all bound in the open air
But who left the light off?
And who wanted it on?
Poetry from Fancy Gravity by Shane Windham
E-book and paperback now on Amazon.com