When my weathered weather vane,
bombastic barometer and
silent sounding balloons
still signify love, hate and before,
When the fallible forecast
unthaws tears trapped under ice,
declares buttons not yet undone
and makeshift shelters to explore,
We will share blanket expressions,
ceremoniously, like thrown rice,
in summer fulminology,
as I calculate the orbit
around your sensuous sun.
Let us frame a vision suitable for framing
under the alluring tension
and increasing cloud cover,
I clarify, quite unqualified
to understate or undress
to the imagined drum of the rhododendron
naming you my lover
no longer resistant
pausing for affect,
while you profess a preference for
daisies and spider mums,
the gale growing
the deep rumble less distant.
Claiming entrapment under our April enchantment,
we tiptoe carefully onto the velvety moss
then splash carelessly into shoreline boundaries
later preserved in whispers of sand
beneath floor mats and matted floors,
sliding back to the back seat
our trembling sleight-of-hand
your irises, restlessly radiant,
with chain links to the sky
as the rain reaches our windshield,
the bobby pin bobbing
the teasing playful, defiant
the smile, the vows, the sighs
occasionally repeating,
recall the call of a kiss, the dark electric
when we froze momentarily
counting the seconds
between flash and fortune fleeting.
I found that sexual and renewing