Cold drops of rain as we run,
so much for our picnic in the sun,
the grass glistens green with drops,
you giggle as you fight with flip and flop.

I grab your hand and lead you on
not to the house but to the barn,
you look at me with a sneaky grin,
I know the fun will soon begin.

The stormy breeze blows on your skin,
goosebumps rise as your dress is thin,
plastered to you and clinging wet,
I try to grab it, but you say not yet.

I am pushed onto a bail of hay,
and told I have to stay that way,
she begins to spin and to dance,
a sudden need within my pants.

A hem gripped soft and slow,
her wet white dress with neon glow,
she lifts it up and to my surprise,
nothing else on her creamy thighs.

The wet dress drops to the floor,
she dances and teases, I can stand no more,
I stand up to shed my own,
she climbs the loft, I watch and moan.

Wet clothes running puddles,
I find her and begin to cuddle,
lightening flashes and thunder booms,
but we don't plan to leave this room.

Old asphalt road faded yellow line,
her lips, the color of sweet red wine,
sunbeams laser, through a hole in the cloud,
she reaches and turns Everclear up loud.

Roger Creager sings about getting drunk,
she sings along, grinning and full of *****,
the miles pass by, she takes landscape pics,
Facebook posts from back in the sticks.

The swimming hole is empty down by the old mill,
I pull out the moonshine from my homemade still,
she takes and sip, the burn makes her hiss,
then she gives me a cinnamon apple kiss.

Big tow rope tied in the cottonwood tree,
I grab the knot and swing-out free,
backflip release, splashing water cold,
she wades in *******, she's just that bold.

The rest of the day spent in summertime fun,
swimming and splashing soaking up the sun,
As darkness falls, we head back the miles,
she puts her head on my shoulder, with a sleepy smile.

Kaleidoscopic lighting strikes,
like when I learned to ride a bike,
couldn't wipe the smile from my face,
when I look upon her face.

Like Christmas morning trampoline,
jumping up and down, exciting,
meeting your hero out on the street,
when I look at her, my heart skips a beat.

Catacombs stretch into the dark,
with knife and flint, ignite a spark,
torch casting shadows long and deep,
I start walking down death's street.

Sneering skulls line the walls,
real-life jolly roger's pall,
walking through the evil spell,
imagination's path to hell.

In the distance an amber glow,
casting out hypnotic flow,
a coffin, a crypt or maybe a tomb,
but still, I walk into the gloom.

Golden reflections do now twist,
an oozing, gelatinous, amber mist,
twisted knots of filigree,
Egyptian goddess now set free.

Standing here with her smile,
she wants me to stay awhile,
the amber gem gleams on her chest,
my heart screams a catch to my breath.

Countless eons I now stare,
eyeless sight filled with despair,
trapped within the devil's broach,
I wish I could warn those that would approach.

The medicinal burn inside my mouth,
I can feel it traveling down south,
a bit like fennel and tarragon,
licorice unctuous, I frown upon.

Perhaps, she was right as Disney,
full of music, magic, and whimsy,
a spoon full of sugar is what it needs,
a bit of *** punch would be fine with me.

But feeling better is the hope,
so I swallow, and try not to mope,
go back to bed, to sleep it off,
only to be awoken by the cough.

Pillow soaked, as fever breaks,
another dose its time to take,
4-hour cycles, I hope to end,
once my bodies on the mend.

Upon their brooms, the witches come
flying in a V I know not where from,
spreading disease and fear and shame,
it is how they play their game.

Virus, bacteria, and even prions,
are the things they thrive upon,
found in the places people should not go,
but from there they reap then sow.

We try to battle through science gains,
but there's so many like drops of rain,
our antibiotic umbrella is full of holes,
as our current situation shows.

The witches are here, but are not real,
simply a characterization of how I feel,
the trapped feeling of stay at home,
even though I am not alone.

Inside the drum the charcoal burns,
for dinner now, my stomach yearns,
seasoned ribs and chicken breast,
building a meat and wire nest.

Hang them now above the fire,
glowing bright, Viking funeral pyre,
place the lid and walk away,
6 hours to slow smoke today.

The cooler lid opens and it squeaks,
oh, by the way, it also leaks,
cold ultra to save the cals,
now just waiting on my pals.

The smoke leaks out, you should smell,
the aroma makes your tastebuds yell,
the downside though is the wait,
but its worth it to fill your plate.