Visions to Toast Perfect Looks
Love is a ghost hiding in the rafter
Winking behind the post, mocking any laughter
Taunting each meeting and every day greeting
Haunting and fleeting even while eating.
Even still, together still, better still to breathe as two
One day will arrive with deep sighs like a dawn dew
Faults laid in a bucket, no need for their wells
Enjoying silent words, spilled misspelled spells.
Resting without work, working without rest
Too much of a good thing is a daring test
Of endurance without that special perk
Like a centrifuge magnifying the spin of each quirk.
As if pedaling hard and feeling blue
In an igloo without special glue
Or as puzzling days roll from a guillotine
And fingers alight on a mysterious screen
In a gilded birdcage on a trapeze
Each letter by letter flying with ease,
For a happy ending down the rocky road.
Her mind radiantly tap dances in Morse code.
Searching for a wickedly taboo forest of gold.
What he only knows is a force of cold.
Purloined mind is flying through trees
Bringing on a protracted pontifical wheeze.
So, until it wrings in the most, love is a ghost
One that is sure to beckon visions, to toast
To garish recollections that disturb monster lies
Until imperfections bring perfect looks from loving eyes.
@sameseem
4/11/17