Stone-cold before the chiminea’s embers
Amid this bummer of a night in December,
Galumphing through a thrift-store of thought
I remember the most remarkable figure — a face. Hers…
Warm as the magic of a midnight summer… Distraught,
I surrender… & with my chest torn asunder
And my tears for treats she eats my heart
And later my sanity as a scrumptious tart.
Picked clean a la carte by her quick depart,
So sour’s her memory from so sweet a start.
We met one night, a night in the middle,
Cozy in a meadow bedizened of weeds
Where soft as silk she spoke her riddle,
Soothing my heart seeking darkest needs.
And thereafter for two weeks we wove
A grove in Revelry’s mystique to rove,
Where I was Adam, and she was Eve,
Enraptured in our Eden ne’er to leave:
Freed to feed from the fruit forbidden,
So ne’er our spicy pursuits laid hidden.
But, alas, when elixirs of lust drained
Gradually too the cosmic dust waned.
And here I still am in Single’s purgatory —
A dingus in a fuss, regurgitating the same
Damn story of Love’s lascivious flame:
Moping for this wicked Winter to be over
& give way to more chances for romances
In clover.