a-muse-sing

 
 
 
Old treasure in my chest.
Memories of lovers who
told me pretty lies,
then, ugly truths.
This is how wisdom comes upon us,
bit by bit, consuming, assimilating.
Angry eyes, words black as coal with
the impact of blood diamonds.
Long, luxurious, libidinous explorations in the spring
of love’s yoke.
Burning passion within the summer’s blazing, sweating,
primal, mode of jungle dance, ecstatic ritual.
Each endearing trip of the tongue,
awkwardness of form,
allowing greater gratitude of intimacy.
Ah, love completes.  It subsumes rational pursuits.
A lick of the tongue and silliness seems so much fun,
and that enough of a rationale to overwhelm ambition.
Life proceeds.  Love recedes.
Those irritating quirks, that jerk
always assuming communion.
Barbed words, mere recreation.
Playing rough, not construed as abuse.
Disparagement is oh so cute.
You were never all that hot anyway.
It was just an amusing summer game.
Those burning secrets, I’ve told them
a hundred times before.
Run along now.  I’ve got better treats in store,
deals and schemes and far more seemly
associations.
Yet, returning, like the sun
magic summons one that melts
this icy heart.
Merging with oxygen sighed in so deeply
by widened lungs,
rising with hope to open quivering petals,
surging delight.
The wise have learned to take it as it comes.
Adventure winks and beckons,
catches the lively eye.
.
.
.
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