the vacuum
sucks from the room
all the beating hearts
and all the false starts
that easily consume
all the costumed tarts
with colored plumes
adorning their gaily
festooned hats
and colorful cravats,
as the music swells,
and the ne'er-do-wells
crawl the carpet,
seeking new recruits;

and I look at You,
and You look at me,
and we both know
immediately
that this is a place
that we do not want
to be, so we scamper,
and scurry, and we
leave in a hurry,
and arrive in a place
that is tranquil and
easy, so slow,
so mellow, that it is
easy to be easy;
and I take you,
and you take me,
and the lovin' is
amazing, and we are
lazing in the soft glow,
as we both know,
that we have found
some certain ground,
to have all that is
around us,
but to still be an
island to surround us;

it is in that precise measure,
that all we hold dear
lies as sunken treasure,
and all that we have known,
between us,
will be all that remains
to define us,
as we realize that there is no
cadence known
as 'merry measure';

well yes,
and a mite of maybe;
for what foretells
is maybe what might possibly
wanna be:
but no matter,
we can ignore all that
chatter, and we can just be:
we gonna be,
we gonna be,
You and I,
and then
You and me,
no matter.

March 7 & 8, 2010, for the Wifey. What a weekend!

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.