Brasso the pipes,
spit to shine.
caress my head
listening to John Prine.
the bees buzzing from the ceiling fan
to the closet.
You lost it,
fanning the room to quick.
the speed of the shoe shoots by faster in the memories.
Dust the ceiling and sweep the floor
from the nights spent crawling all around on fours.
You’re a blue flower and I’m a bumblebee.
suspending from earth beneath the trees.
General