Dancing the Dance

One glance by chance and then the dance:
Store of passion guided us across the floor
Gliding on out the door in timeless motion
Causing quite a commotion in our devotion
So suddenly birthed in such hasty mirth
And all to heed the call of love-eruption
Without hesitation or need for affectation
And never any deviation from the dance;
We still dance through the night into light
Under sun, moon and stars so far away . . .
We dance the never-ending dance of love
Love Everlasting


Just Pretend It’s Love?

How is it someone stumbles into our lives
And bumbles us into love when deep inside
We know it’s all wrong, this relationship
Is long on dreams that don’t belong to us?
And why is it we ignore proof of the truth
That friends and family beg us to realize
And not trivialize? They can see the tree
Is so gnarled and poisoned, and so can we,
So why is it we continue on with such glee
As if the tree were so magnificent with no
Deficit, and even sibilate when confronted
With the truth? Oh, how is it we get caught
In a web of deception without any reception
Of real love, and then try to beguile others
With our smile, pretending that everything
Is grand and dandy, when inside we’ve lost
Our heart and the better part of that life
We used to live? And why do we try so hard
To make that stumbling, bumbling someone
Into an altogether other and better someone
More acceptable and respectable when they
Are really quite despicable? Is it to save face
When in reality we could bow out with grace?
Ah! Ah! Tell me how it is someone stumbles
Into our lives and then bumbles us into love
When all along we know inside it’s wrong?
How and why this travesty of insane pain!

Laconic, Languorous Little Man

How they met and married must have been the result
Of some fiendish bet, for no two people could have
Been any different than this woman and trepid man;
She was quite agrestic, in fact, not at all domestic;
He was nothing spectacular, being an homuncular man,
Both in size and spirit, whose laconic nature provided
Something of a tonic to cure the recurrent histrionics
Of his hoyden wife, whose natural constitution seemed
So kitsch-laden! No wonder, then, that this poor man
Was perpetually languorous, which was a bit dangerous
To his fragile health; but crude and rude as she could
Sometimes be, she was linchpin to their shared wealth,
So damn his health! He was famous for being almost
As abstemious as an ascetic while she was indulgent
And quite ebullient in diet and riotous socialization,
Which counted a great deal toward his languid station
In a life rife with hesitation, defined by truncation;
So his persistence in existence was largely defined
By frustration built upon the foundation of ill-fated
Consummation pre-planned in hell to be his damnation;
But what is he to do but smile and wile away the time?