Would he be a good father ?
Does he have the kind of features
I would like in a child ?
She decided that in life this would not be the man
for a dance though she rose
and he held out his hand
She lived and let life
sometimes hummed in the dark
wrote songs when alone in the office
in the park
to her confidant of eco green hemp pages
kisseed by dried tulip
Her body and mind
the temple and shrine
treated oft to a chick flick
chocolate, some wine
Her four walls partitioned
in aesthetic chaos
Dust settles on Bhudda
faces chimes
attached to strut
in from the raw
Redundant window frames
fall to naked wall
Left pastel
right postered
in film festival
Her dreams were waves that chopped
spitting wash
Faces spoke through panes of muting bubbles
rising under the hulls of boats
that jostled friends
and strangers of the month
Wrecks cried ever faintly from the bed
canoeing on blue moons
like true romance
Her passed love
a silhouette in the midst of of lightning
long since camouflaged by bohemian hobbies
A rip
released to tide
And she saw not more
than when eyes were closed
Who now, in the kind light
of evening halogen
pink and orange shades
would wade through the wash
into the cocoon of girlhood's
lathered preservance
but one bold in charisma
Coral sponge cheeks betraying one accomadating
with wide secretless eyes
that loved laughter
spun in the fabric of dreams
But for just a dance
on a merry night
she held his hand
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