“I Thought We Were Going To Cuddle,” say you.
“We Are Cuddling,” say I.
How possibly could the muses keep mute after
watching you walk barefoot downtown in the 2am rain?
I have seen enough broken glass on any given
block between here and our cars to slice
feet to the knees, so despite this being
the sexiest thing I’ve seen in months,
I give warning hoping you’ll ignore me.
Which you do happily.
The goddesses will always be caught singing praises
for those more beautiful, more clever.
There’s always someone younger, quicker;
and I no dashing prince after all.
But that hardly stops them from singing for you.
A magazine blonde sits against the wall
looking bored with her boyfriend who looks bored
and they look like a great boring bored couple
deaf to music in the air not meant for them anyway.
Adventure is what happens when we stop being so damned careful;
risk falling, breaking, getting cut into tiny bits;
stop making excuses for skipping each now as
the universe deals out life one grain at a time.
You say you need to control yourself,
and I know it isn’t for fear of breaking into song,
but to savor the verse for the verse’s sake,
knowing the chorus will come along soon enough.
The space after a first kiss is as magical
as they come; it’s a wonder lovers don’t
become trapped in its enchantment forever.
Or maybe they do and are never heard from again.