Hey, Girl, Hey, It's the Month of May — Three Poems
Buying luck with soft licks of cash
Exhilaration alone empties your stash.
Planes cruise overhead, the planet turns
Palm tress sway, but no one learns
It’s all about love in these years.
So, how about love in these years?
There was no thunder, no glowing doorway, no mysterious wind blowing through the apartment, and no choir of angels politely alerting me that physics had submitted its resignation.
The deck simply felt heavier.