Poetry – Page 30 – aka, The Abject Muse

The Burn

A Cinquain Memories of us (tender, sublime, captivating) — like wildfire in my imagination

the old live oak dripping with Spanish moss and tenderly inscribed with our initials gentle and forever to the stars and back

Lost in fantasies of Ms. Flavor-of-the-Week? Your silence screams her.

The fire in your eyes and the sweetness of your lips— How can I say no?

If you could have two I’d gladly be the second: Sometimes beats never.