A Cavalcade of Crossed Wires

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I don’t make a habit
           Of analyzing bouquets
Of roses, and I do not
                   Think that I want to
                Meet the person who does –

Here,it’s all protracted splendor
                            And bountiful waves
                Like frothy crescendos
                            Whenever I touch my face
       Still, I wish for someone
                Else to touch my face
       And imbue my pores
                   With amorous hues
          Scarlet and violet
    And ever deepening blues!
I want tongue kisses, wet kisses
                                        On the lips
Avalanches of gossamer solace
                       Glistening with warmth
             And the demure drizzle
                         Of generous fingertips
           Gliding gliding gliding
                        Like a balmy breeze
                 Through Pagan architecture

Indecision comes so
            Naturally, though, and
                                  I read poems
                        Easier than I read signals
     Confounding circuitry
             A cavalcade of crosses wires
                         Beneath the bleary
                                       Drone of nerves
                    
                     Is there a way
             For me to say
                       This –
                             Without sounding
                                    Desperate?

-r. miller

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