There’s a moose let loose in the hoose.
He’s elking ‘imself to dessert (mousse, of course).
He’s such a deer, despite being rather bullish.
His predilect poetic form is streaming his unconsciousness;
enematic rhyme schemes spawning circular symbolism.
He’s the shape of grey; a jelliful mass of contractions –
a joyful jiggle in the jungle (if you get my drift) –
‘not to mention’ a gregarious giggler (you didn’t read that).
He’s a masterful mosher of metaphor –
a minister of mimicry, an all-round all rounder.
And occasionally, his style rubs off on me.
(Not a euphemism)…
We collaborate, he and I
We often laugh until we cry
We’re silly almost every day
We act, we sing, we write, we play
We text each other funny lines
And always… well, maybe sometimes…
They fit together like hand in glove
As we do too, we share our love
Of words and fun and music, too
Creating things to share with you
And with this love, our hearts do sing (Click for our latest offering)
We talk in tongues
when we’re together.
Each hard at work,
taking a moment to touch
across our smiles.
We think via empathy;
our neural pathways connecting our minds
like the weave of a well-worn suit.
We kiss and rekiss;
we know the other’s ways.
But sometimes, when we start, we wobble,
because, often, our knees turn to jelly,
and it is what we do.
Here, I say, never fear,
I am in your arms
Swoon, my dear.
Cerulean skies rise above peacock and sapphire seas
Milky washes lap on southern shores
Pups play on buttermilk sands
We hold hands
Snuggle up against the ocean’s bite
Until we run out of poo bags
And have to call it a night