Your skin glows like the tomato, blossoms flourescent as the onion in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your french horn voice and leaps like a kangaroo at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great starling wing.
I am comforted by the weight your jacket as I carry it into the twilight of urban renewal and hold next to my nostrils.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears with beer.
As my eyes fall on your face, it reminds me of my carpet.
In the quiet, I listen for the last fart of the day.
My heated foot leaps to my sock.
I wait in the moonlight for your secret chair so that we may hunker as one, elbow to elbow, in search of the magnificent purple and mystical river of love.
I cannot read it without wondering about the intended recipient and your perception of that relationship.
Do go on - is the 2nd verse of this masterpiece ready for consumption yet?
Well I'm not sure yet of the market, I was thinking of selling it. Can you think of a likely purcaser? THis may of course influence the direction of development of this opus vitae
