We don’t appreciate
comfort
until the air conditioner
condenser breaks when it’s
40 degrees* out
because dog pee
corroded the evaporator coil.
The steaming
house is broken
and dogs get more expensive
every day.
.
.
*(that’s 104 if you speak Fahrenheit).
.
(good thing we love them, eh?)
Claws in the hall,
a staccato jack hammer,
burrow into my brain.
The A/C unit
roars and reverberates
in my skull.
Dull morning light
pierces through my eyelids
burning like a laser.
A storm roils
in my stomach washing up waves of
star studded agony.
Heat washes over, steam rises.
A freezing blizzard follows.
Desperately I seek
the peaceful
oblivion of sleep.
.
.
.
(Not having a good day!)
Gossamer strings
weaving between
emptiness,
the lace
slides
beneath needles
as I stitch air
into beauty.
The scent
wound around the room
burrowed up the nostrils
and drained out eyes.
Set away
from sensitive noses
the lily’s petals have fallen
and still its heavy scent
fills the heated air,
present in death,
like warm memories
of you.
You are a
panther of poesy
lithely elucidating
your erudition,
stalking grandiloquence,
vaulting verbiage in your
versification
until you are
a kitten tangled
in tautology.
When you crunch
into that apple
eyes twinkling,
cheek dimpling.
I am Eve,
and that smile,
glistening with juice,
is paradise
to go.
Here,
listening to the loons,
with you,
is a precious moment
of forever.
.
G r e e n e y e s,
h o l d m y h e a r t
t i g h t l y a g a i n s t y o u r s ;
l e t t h e i r c o m b i n e d r h y t h m
~ s y n c o p a t e d m e m o r i e s ~
d a n c e i n o u r
e m b r a c e .
.
.
.
Happy Anniversary, handsome. Sam Heughan has nothing on you.
In quiet corners
obsession lingers
eyes stuck tight
while passion flames.
Wrapped in arms,
stroked, caressed,
paper thin
each moment savoured
with lingering longings
until with sighs,
the last
page is turned.
.
.
.
(Always so sad when a great book comes to an end)
You are
an uncommon mystery
that baffles the sleuths
You are
a melodious litany
of spiritual truths
You are
a sonorous villainy
raising the roofs
You are
in my periphery
and have been since youth.
.
.
.
.
.
Don’t ask. Sometimes I don’t have a clue what they’re really about, either. 😉
Shawn L. Bird 