Two Open Places

I will write you a flower
every morning to read
with your coffee
a bright yellow squirt
the coffee oily blue
green bubbles on top
You sleep with a cat
whose soft purr
gives you pleasure
all the joy of color
impressions for the day
You are soft like warm
butter barely melting
down a scone topped
with a couple of firm
red raspberries
The butter surrounds
the berries a light
pigment an open
place to play with lips
and tongue – wait
you didn’t think this
was really a flower
did you? Here
are two flowers
the one calls a honey bee
the other falls asleep
petals lips open
blowing softly.
There is so much
silence hear
the rustle of ants
hustling across
the counter
for sugar and sweet
stuffs see the apple
blossoms opening feel
the bees approach
touch the molten
lava freeze it
you can
but no matter
Once we admired
use of one another
of the now tossed
the cast laugh
the tassels flipping
flopping bouncing
from rear view mirrors
Now we adhere
to a silence
that deafens touch
asks for oh
I’m sitting in the corner
face to the wall
wearing the cap.


  1. bristlehound says:

    Ah! Yes.
    Those were the days Joe.

    Liked by 1 person

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