For Round 5 of the Son of Slam 3; about a time when I REALLY played the fool...
|You draw me to dinner at dusk
complete with candles and a woodland view
atop an Adirondack peak.
We sip Bully Hill and laugh at the man.
I allow myself to fill up on bread,
and make a motion toward the fall...
and we’re rolling down the mountain to your farm
where fireflies wink inside a barnyard loft,
and a guitar
and some blankets
and another bottle of Bully
passed giggling mouth to mouth
and you singing -
stars shining bright above you…
- with eyes that pull unwavering at mine
and offer meaning to the sappy lyrics:
…night breezes seem to whisper “I love you…”
and I am so taking the bait,
hooked and keen on dreams coming vivid into colour.
One serenade follows another,
and the wine
and those fireflies
and here enters a gingersnap moon
framing herself carefully inside the open loft space
between haystacks and rafters
and I am getting quite carried away
along our countryside courting stream…
and so I plunge courageous into risk
and tell you I think I am falling
(or have possibly already
and you reach a switch, from on to off…
and lights come up at some director’s “cut!”
because I have strayed from the script.
Before the swindle’s sting begins,
I have a moment to appreciate your scam
but then the con is cruel, and I am in my car,
and I can’t travel fast or far enough away.