Second season dating,
through vodka eyes
and weed-wise middle age
if she could still touch,
like the early rays of morning,
borne in loves first kiss.
He entered in a gust of gosh!
hopeful as a player
playing the long-ball game
and with a face she could have licked,
a tad over-ripe
and berry punch red.
she hadn't cut her fringe so short
for it smacked of Magenta Devine,
as the darkest depths of winter.
of blind daters
like newbies at the ice-rink
where you fall and if lucky look up,
relieved not to find any ceilings.