Crimson currants scatter across the plate;
The ruin of his proposition dies on his lips—
The longing and the loss go begging, too late,
As two tired hands sag draped across her hips.
While puzzled puzzling puppies whimper without reason—
Is this the sure path to the higher parish ground?
Milady, crossed, throws vexed hurt blames and accusations;
Limped, the poet crawls away to contemplate a grayer sound.
Storm warnings fall, the sun finally peeks out;
The happy and free saxman takes the stage for his solo
Another rainbow dies unlit without a Southern doubt;
Can we sixters renew old loves, is it yet the secret go slow?
Leg raisers, push-ups, and the latest anti-cholesterol drug:
Guys muster what little left they have to play her knight errant.
Girls, wriggle and giggle, and deflate their swains with another shrug;
Boys, bluster and muster, try to achieve the ultimate, yet can’t.
Why is Love so hard to find and put softly in a peaceful space?
Why must Time dry up all dreams along with such a lovely face?
So, have you decided to come on over
And do some boy and girl things:
Consume Moon Pies while making eyes
Listening to records as the hippy gypsie sings?
We could walk down to the gulch;
Maybe even while holding hands,
Traipsing along while wrenching a song
From one of our favorite rock and roll bands.
I like the Stones and Zeppelin.
Yeah, Taylor Swift is totally cool—
I like ‘Blank Space’ and her girly-girly face,
Just wisht she’d finally find a suitable fool.
But, down pours them Spring rains
And our Sophomore finals are coming fast.
My Dad says I have to make A’s,
So seems Sunday’s schedule is cast.
Maybe next weekend you can visit
And we’ll do boy and girl stuff—
Laughing at jokes like regular folks;
Seems these weekends are never long enough.