Matrimony

So this tender steam…
Heat for the halo.
Dayglo picnic on the fringes of faith.
It is the word that sayeth only itself,
a word that drips crimson
on an azure plate.
We reach greatness at dusk
with our hands down our pants.
There’s music and dancing
in the unsavory part of town.
It is the word that spilleth
like a debutante
tripping over her gown.
We done blown a fuse,
(and the muses aren’t that impressed)
dressed to the nines
with rhinestones and gold buckles
affixed to our mouths.
And the growth that matters –
but it’s more than mere growth.

-r. miller

Advertisements

Ring the Call Button

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s