Dreaming of Tuesday’s
parties, glorious rippling
colors, all manner of
food and gaiety, strangers with
strange stories, big ridiculous hats,
cacophony of singing,
and drunkenness, lots of it
spinning, hours disappearing
under the weight of the night
and slow dancing whispers,
all versions of us
unwilling to believe in a
Soft bed of snow in a dark forest, two bodies breathe.
we feel the cold burden, the dead weight,
it presses for answers as our chests fight to rise, rise, rise …
gratefully, audibly. When it’s over, snow settles
on our eyelids with the lightest touch. We, in ancient silence,
when rain falls
in the nascent glow of a streetlight, it seems to wear a veil, a widow’s gown
you and i
have felt the distance between two knees sitting too close
it’s taken its toll
the bells of the church
agree – and inside The Beatles lament the loss and turn defiantly –
those headlights in the rain.
There is this cat on the walk
And when I shuffle on by, She swishes her tail, she Stops to say hi.
There is this cat on the walk,
I swear she knows me, She looks up with pause, She rubs legs with a cause.
And before she runs off
This cat seems to say “You think it ain’t true But I’m one you once knew….”