how is the weather today,
the inquiry semi-formally, mumbly delivered
(in pj's, eyes closed, body turned away)

and I softly smile for somewhere here
the poet-boy once wrote
"all my poems begin with weather"

and the composing begins, which of course,
is the decomposing of me-pieces
into nanosecond emotions
that each becomes a verses
until a certain voice
wise whispers "no mas"

my reply, nano bytes of me,
is a forecast personal and tailored
to our GPS location,
the bedroom

"Swami says
looking inside, outside too,
report and retort
it appears quite nice,"

(quietly semi-whispering,
100% chance of snuggling, followed by severe
love making, its arrival foreshadowed by lighting biting and
foot rubbing, and licking winds of heaving breathing,
conditions, we explorers of the caves and local mounts
so oft encounter on our Atlantic captive isle,
and bravely sally forth to face its bullets of kicks 'n kisses)

from under the covers,
we hear swarming,
warning bolts of
snorting derision
but this fire eating ,
most fearsome
nostrillian, reptilian morning beastie noise,
we hardy sailors hardily choose to ignore

but lack of detail is unappreciated so our response amended:

"looking outside, report and retort
it appears quite nice, with 100% chance
of showers of coffee and kisses"

which earns me a sweetie kick

all my poems, the poet-man once wrote,

"all my poems end with whether"

apparently, this one as well.  
oh well, oh well!

7/8/17 8:14am