Thou art the sunlight
That trickles off the
Rippled water.
Thou art the sweetness
Of beauty.
Thou art the spirit of
The trees,
The whistling sound of
The wind,
And I catch thee
Like I would catch a fish.
With a scream of
Delightful madness.
Only to let thee go again.
Back into the sea,
Back into thy divine
Peace.
Only I wait,
For you to catch my bait,
In some other dream.

The end of the cigarette
Burns off spaghetti strings,
While one eye is on the soup.
My shoes, which by the way
Are on my feet,
Swizzle and spin
As the thermometer bursts
From the heat of the kitchen.
The stars can be seen
Through the roof,
As the freezer lets off steam,
And I reach into my pocket
And pull out a rock,
Which I crush with my bare hands.

We do solemnly swear;
That forever more,
We shall live in a world
All on our own.
A world that consists of
Pure pleasure,
And unequivocal harmony.
That will last forever,
And a Sunday.
And so from this day forth,
We shall exude the richness
Of the heavens,
In ways that are applicable to life
In the most profound way imaginable.
Which will inevitably,
Echo forever more
In the laughing sounds
Of matrimony.
Blessed our velvet tongues,
For we speak the weight of gold,
And sing like angels,
Whispering enchanting dreams,
And dancing on clouds.

Mrs. Suspicious,
Was doing the dishes,
And was worried
About the spider in the bath.
So she called on her husband,
Who sorts out problems
By the dozen, and yelled:

‘**** the monster on the march!'

So he got out his shotgun,
And thought this will be much fun,
And he made his way slowly
As he laughed.
But the spider was gone,
As he searched on and on,
But had no such luck as time passed.

'So did you find the spider?'
'No dear he slipped by us'
The spider made hiding an art.
Mrs. Suspicious baked a cake,
And with delight they both ate,
Of which the spider was a part.