Sunday, April 08, 2012

Sweet Wood

We are thrilled with the response
so far and happy to bring you
the pants of your dreams, sweet wood.
The sure foot of your friction
is rubbing the floor dry.
Oh! How you open the sky enough
to let the moon drip pink
into the ocean froth. Darn that dream
where I get haunted by the gift
of the fabulous you. A suitcase in your
plow and matchstick in your pants.
I will always and only
and so I assume you will too.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

LOVE THIS POEM!

8:23 PM  

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