by no design save the natural economy
of resonance in a field of pink noise 
and isotopes of serendipity -
bonding to the surface
of a pollywog’s chassis. 
the buttons on your shirt 
are askew, and your hair
has broad shoulders.
and i notice. and I’m 
laughing.

you tell the radio to sing about 
mustard on a mule. you dance in the slippers
you leave everywhere. and I pause.
i marinade in the olive oils of your redolent charms.
i palm my heart on a pitchfork
folding my valentines origami with no hands.
savoring the argyle socks in your eyes
when you throw magazines with pictures
and roll joints with your tongue - 
disjoint from even possible.
I climb into the warm sun of your presence
in my pajamas of thought. a snug surrender
takes up all the room in the sleeping bag
failing to hide the flashlight
before you turn around
and I’m busted.  

for what love did. 

sometimes the only thing 
that says anything at all...

never said a thing.