Come over.
Have a glass of peach apple wine
and tell me what it's like to live with her and think of me.

When she ***** you and your hands are in her fake red hair,
tell me how you close your eyes and think of running your hands through mine.
How my honest green eyes flash in your mind
and make you hope.

Read me the poem you wrote me
while she sat on the couch next to you
playing with the cats you named together.

Tell me how I've given you confidence,
how my soul reflects in your writing
because I showed it to you.
Come over and be mine for the afternoon.

I focus on my bank account
and not feeling alone.
The man in 1080p repeats,
'Where has my America gone?'
Fifty or sixty, and billionaire rich --
I guess I'm his working class *****.

Voting on how to
delude myself best;
I am part of a
dollar bill nest,
where I get to see
but don't get to touch,
where I get to give
but don't get too much.

in the summer house by the lily pond on a winters night I am very fond of a light red deer that comes nosing near when I am there,




it's the tranquil light and serenity that finds me in this frame of mind




behind the old oak tree watching me is red deer's mum

I think she wants to come a little closer

but

there is no rush

I let the gentle hush of winter in the air do its magic.




I guess the summer house is everywhere you wish and if you wish it so then so it is.




tracks are all this leaves among the dew between the trees and the coming rain will wash them all away,




glad that I wished here today

tomorrow you

can wish here too.