In the corner next to the underpaid electricity
where no one wants to sit and reheat leftovers
admitting each bite taste better than the original,
hardly ready to walk down an isle of silver ware
but if I were I 'd pick the Waterford to match
during the reception I'll wear my glass as glasses
the shallow smiles will ask my dress to snake
as I crave the framed grace, the crisscrossed
napkins and two bites of the others peanut butter
truffle cheesecake, I'll hardly have to worry about
a thing, easy on the musty air my lungs won't
stop flexing this microphone everyone saw got
unplugged an hour ago and as the last couple
to enter will be the first to leave I'll eat a strawberry
to taste the sweetness of the moment
later I'll put my guard down long enough to side slip a
glance to the guest who walked around laces flapping,
shoulder tapping, fingers mapping with eyes stating
the impossibility of believing any of it

Withered meadows
I can dream no longer
your wings of stone
are far too uncaring
and I simply cannot handle
another grass stain

I love those
breezy Saturday nights
with the swinging irises
lazy daydreaming lashes
and I am peace
glowing in the dark with
my surrounding happiness

I'll carry this jar and letter
throw it to the bottom of
the deep end
in the morning a stranger can
find it and wonder the mystery
of rushed lead and bold lettering