Could I love you if
we did not touch, if I did
not mark you as mine?
Fifth sense
Reply
Could I love you if
we did not touch, if I did
not mark you as mine?
The house of my heart
is white, clean, pure. No windows,
doors. No visitors.
Making travel plans,
like getting dressed for a date,
is a leap of faith.
We bring it home, put
it on life support so we
can hang ornaments.
Sad orphans ripped from
the forest stretch out their limbs
pleading, ‘Take *me* home.”
Like flickering tongues
of flame in green…blue…red. Just
plug in and enjoy.
It’s the guilty splurge,
potato chips for the mind.
You can’t watch just one.
Like speed dating, if
they make a good impression,
they come home with us.
TV’s “Fisherman
and His Wife” story for our
times. Unalloyed greed.
Inside the snowglobe
winter’s still life settles as
flakes swirl in the air.