Blog Archives

My Bad

Scarcely believe my eyes
She walks thru the iron gate ajar
Hoping against hope
That things have gotten this far
Can’t believe it’s gotten to this
Chasing yonder wisps of love
That never seem to arrive
Because my push pivots on your shove
But believe, she’s standing right there
The setting Sun gilding her eyes
A rising Moon plaiting her hair
Is the chardonnay correct
Will my earnest suffice
What brings the morrow
To equal this moment half too nice
Dishes done, I’ve gone half-mad
Surprise visit, and she likes my bad