Crunchy Mustard

I bought two new outfits, for myself and for you.
I was hoping you’d like it.
Our first time, we want to look good.

Tonight’s the night.
My Nerves. My Sweat. My Knees are trembling.
My stomach is on perma press.
I hope everything goes well.

I jotted a few lines down. I hope I can remember.
Everything’s set. I’m in my room.
It’s six o’clock. It’s time to get dressed.

I gel my hair and I slick it back.
I dress my pants, my shirt, my tie.
A quick shave, a dash of cologne.
I hear ringing, I won’t answer the phone.

Why am I doing this — oh, what a mistake!
One false step, and its the bottom of the lake.
How I hate to disappoint you, after all the hard work.
You’d never forgive me.

I put on a jacket and over it a cape.
My heart beats through my chest.
It’s time to come out.

The music plays louder with each and every step.
The place is filled with silence muffling the music.
I look for you, but i’m alone. You’re not there.
It’s more than I can bear.

Alas, I see the glimmering of your outfit.
That’s the one I just had bought.
You’ve changed your face, your hair.

Flat across the table, I saw you and pause.
I saw you again and gasps I hear — they’re their.
I saw you once more and I saw you in half!
A screech! A sigh! A yell!
Am I a demon from hell.

I put you back together. Cheers and applaud.
I hug you. I kiss you on the cheek.
I vanish to thin air.

Virgo, Il Magnifico!
Magician and more.
No more.

The smoke sizzles….

The Grass is Green. The Sky is Blue.
All is black. All is White. All is black again.

A drip. A beep.
A line is made. A pool is made.
The whites turn Red. A White turns green.

A drip. A tick.
No motion. No Beep.

A push. A push. A push.
A Kiss. A beep.

All is black. All is white. All is color again.
The Sky is Blue. The Grass is Green.

The Hummingbird Hums!

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

She weaved and she wove.

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

The water’s boiling on the stove.

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

She rocked. And she rocked.

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

Forward and back, crickle and crack.

Stitching. Stitch. Stitch.

The telephone rings, the whistle blows.

Everything stops, but her breath goes.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

The cats meow.

Today I bought a flower. The Flower turned to a tree.
The tree was big and pasty.
With one look, it said, “Mmm-mmm, Mighty tasty.”

I looked. Once more, I looked again.
What I saw, I saw. Heard what I had, had I.

I plead, “Please, oh mighty tree, so big and pasty,
Surely, I, so weak and thin, cannot be tasty.”

“What was that you said, little one?” He replied.

“I beg of you not to…

CRUNCH!

Bare with me as I have never before attempted to write poetry.
But i feel i’m off to good start with that clever title.
sorry about all the rhyming.

Her, She Kisses

It’s that time of year
the weather, the summer,
the women, so near.

It’s that feeling, that pleasure,
that taste no machine can measure.

The two become one,
one pressed against the other,
Oh the pleasure, oh the fun.

Her bossom on mine,
and mine on her.

Oh the excitement,
Oh the rapture,
Oh for certain,
No camera can capture.

A kiss on her shoulder,
A kiss on her neck,
A breath in my ear,
and I utter, “Oh dear.”