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Passion’s Wreck

Another wink inappropriately sent across the room
As I savor the dream of the salt at the base of your neck
Though there is no way this goes ever anywhere
Adrift in the Acadien gutter of this passion wreck

Swirling skirts reel to a hot cajun beat
The Artsmophere swells with Sebastien pours
Wanna go home with me, my belle jolie?
The answer is always: mais non, tous le jours

She glories in the morning, then rules the night
But my quiver emptied long many years ago
But Love never wearies as longing grips ever tight
Though my sad offer would hardly sate a wound so

So unreconstructed in Alexandria, my tall glass half full
Dreams and wishes mingling in a nice vigne rouge
Grateful for my morning porridge and café gratuit
Let’s get to it, cross that bridge at Baton Rouge

Scream down the 10 all the way to New Orleans—
A quarantino not quite following these isolation rules
65 and dying even before comes this Chinese bugger
Not sure anyone knows, besides, they’re all tools!

Again, still half marveling at the sweat beading about your neck
Dreaming in an Acadien gutter fouled by Old Love’s passion wreck

Author Of Quaint Cuteness

So he found his way into the next street bar—
So too many sunsets he’d watched on his own.
He spied an open seat next to suspicion;
He sat: the leatherette surrendered with a groan.
He’d read that other’s fine published work—
Smaller now, he slow-ordered a few subsequent reds;
An author of quaint cuteness in a virtual realm in rhyme;
The rest of his well-bought confidence littered in shreds.
Darkly he found finally his Feng shui front door;
Next time he promised himself to leave on the light.
What’s that cold tightness crawling up his arm?
Her glam memory long ago dimmed from all sight.
Jack meowed hard, his breakfast was kinda late—
The neighbor poured the proper measured morsels into the bowl.
Calls were made, tears will come later, most real, certainly—
The author of quaint cuteness in his virtual realm of howl.

Wanna Misbehave

Wanna misbehave
Fall out th wrong side of bed
Let’s forget that Raggedly Ann
I’d drather play with you instead
Let’s break some windows
The amps cranked way passed eleven
Let’s sway to some ‘Stones
Find the morning along with a hint of heaven
Itsa fine wretch of a red wine
From the ashy dead Sonoma plain
Like a slow dance in the delta
Itsa waltz all ‘round with you all over again
Another orangish Halloween looming
Black cats and sultry witches in skeleton chorus
The lil kiddies pounding about the hood—
For the best chocolate goodies they implore us
Hey, wanna misbehave
Let’s shake it at the shaming dawn
With a toss of your sassy ebon mane
Despacito, our two hearts been long gone

Skip Skipping

Time is skip slipping
As the rain comes misting down
I think I really like you
With you I can sing and clown
Time is a sore pouring
The wine is half gone
Dance we again across the floor
We spin and spin until half-passed dawn

Time stops stupid short
You skitter sweetly out the door
You seem positively unsure
If you’ll come this way anymore

Time comes to do laundry
Separate the lights from the sweats
But we’d danced so hand-in-glove—
Always seem to lose at these kind of bets

Time for my daily bread work
Cloths are all neatly pressed
On a misty kind of rainy morning
One must always look one’s best

Because when the time seems right and the Sun supershines
The world may yet crash down but you still must work the mines
Wanna dance?

Something Else

Ran out of red wine,
Ate all the almonds;
Ain’t this healthy living
Something else.

Managed a mile run;
Piled on the push-ups;
Ain’t this healthy living
Something else.

But I ain’t got you,
And no love is no good.
Aren’t you coming over?
Oh, if only you would.

Starting with several sit-ups;
Onto the overhead press.
Ain’t this healthy living
Something else.

Stemming the saturated fats;
Diving after the Vitamin D3.
Ain’t this healthy living
Something else.

But you’re still not here
As all these alleged muscles get sore.
To fully complete this course
Requires I be with you a whole lot more!

Don’t want any more red wine
And you can keep the nuts:
Please get over here—
No ifs, ands, or buts.

Wrong-Sized Glass

Sorry, I know it’s the wrong-sized glass
but it is a pretty nice red.
we can crack open this bottle
or go for walk instead.
usually just down to the gulch,
it matters not how far,
or maybe off to the zoo
we can take my old car.
I just want to spend some time
and get to know you better,
even though my stupid old cat
won’t want to meet your setter.

So, I’ll put the merlot up,
since you’ve turned me down.
I really wish for you the best
and hope to see you around town.
the old poet saved the page
and powered off his computer;
tomorrow to try again
imaging the life of a suitor—
heartbreak, in crisp 64 RAM,
meets: “I yam what I yam!”