THE-HONEY-POT-MOON-
DOWNWARD-POURED
My girl and I lay together spooned.
Outside the window the night was mooned.
The stars, like eyes, our bodies ate
with their glare, our bed their plate.
I did not take her for my wife.
We did not pair like fork and knife.
My girl and I lay together in a spoon
while poured-down upon us a honeyed-moon.
THE VERSE VOCATION
Everyone has a vocation
but there's seldom a vacancy.
Mine was to be a verse-poet.
Not everyone can see
that they have a vocation.
Trains are missed, or there's no staion.
No comments:
Post a Comment