Tight crinoline of a dress - starch-unyielding
gingham bows bold & blue
the softness of one older & plumb with everything good and enfolding
warmth of hands holding
embracing …
to
a walk down paths - trails forested
the feel of unbidden dreams and stolen things :
moments
objects of no poetic meaning,
june sunlight on the backs of wee hands
marveling at the tenderness of violets
and
the smooth manipulation of grass, glass and ideals
to
freedom gained by acquisition and wheels
wind
always feeling the wind . . .
to
the solitude of things
corners dark
camouflaged by vision boards of
mad hatters and meadowlarks
soon
electric sexuality rising to command the gamma rays of the sun
and
the
color of night
to
the feel of contrast :
your skin on my skin
calling
me
home
to
sunlight tighness, crinoline poetry, electric freedom, star rides & open spaces
the smell of grass
and
the feel of wind . . .
the stolen gray of tenderness
found
in the feel of things
