Falling Cradleless through Spring’s Evening Boughs

by on January 26, 2013 :: 0 comments

She could abide by the spring’s evening boughs,
Be wowed when zephyrs sided softly with hummingbirds.

Such heard tones, audible gossamers, were as dandelion parachutes,
Suitably montaged, drifting clear of mortgages, old laundry, coupon clippings.

Chippering bands, though, wondered places his head next graced,
Facing sunset-hued beauties, jetting off, skittering beyond her reach.

Teaching nothing of acceptance’s better pathos. Why try
Flying from cradles; enough crashing resounds infidelity’s squeak.

Peaks of “drug-resistance” choices spun harder, faster. After a measure,
His pleasure transformed as not trophies or quests, but just thin ego trickles.

Tickling all manners of verities. Moonlight’s sleepless howls,
Bower-ridden, anyway, might have suddenly sired rapid penalties.

Wee breezes, nocturnal gusts, called forth alternate forms,
Wore down moments where lust melted hallow. Dreams denied, fascinations settled.

Mettle, mores, plain city ethics, political correctness, make no difference to some bums,
Like him, a husband/father intent on leaving panty trails across urban hillsides.

editors note:

After Daddy’s indiscretions, who wouldn’t prefer the cradle o’er the creep? – mh

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