Night is filled with flowers.
Like a twisted ankle this gas station
Smells like a pulled weed. Nonetheless, dawn is a torn dress
Mechanical and tumbling down a hill. Yes, of course I’d like
To go to the corner store and microwave a burrito
With you. And of course, of course, I’d shoot a couple of holes
Of miniature golf. Seriously, if I could
Taste your breath, put your nape on the tip of my tongue
And roll over
Every empty corner of this room
Emptying my pockets of elephants
And butterflies.
This is utterly wonderful. The whole thing has captured the essence of something timeless and beautiful.
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Thanks. I’m glad you think so. It’s actually, I think, the oldest poem I have posted.
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