Friday, February 08, 2013

Out on that road.

Out on that road.

Yellow, I fear no peril, smell
elements of heather, pine and
fennel, holding in a clenched
hand, tales of what you'd be.
To me again, essence remain,
true to life, the wanting of
someone true to me, I for she,
she for me and all that jazz
in between the shaded green.

Up ahead, I spy a dream,
come for one more chance,
my arms to hold, before I'm
cold. She knew me all for older
days, when men were rough
and tough, before the advent,
of a romantic yearning, setting
foot in her garden was not
permitted without a word, she
heard the falling of my eyes.

Watching like there's no
tomorrow she strode away, I
cried but hastened after the girl.
Could I catch her, no-one tried
yet I have hoped to go and
find her pace, perfect aspect
in the openness of face, when
angels sought to steal a
moment of this feline grace.

Country roads that take me
home, to places I would go,
below a guise of finding out,
who did or cannot love her
here, someone less than mostly
queer. My memory would sell
me out if I had not believed,
a tiny jot of awesomeness
would walk into my life, then
promptly spin me upside down.