And when I came to, it was snowing,
and the snow, in its white flaky plenitude,
absorbed the night landscape
like a cape absorbs the body its attached to.
I had an attaché of lonesome longings to my name.
That was it. None of my clothes fit me properly
to my dismay. I had a lot to catch up on.
So I went a-roamin’ and a-moanin’,
and got all hopped up on hopping.
Stopping not even once, I committed
myself to some very focused hocus pocus.
I poked and probed my way
to the frontal lobe of my lurid fantasies,
disaster waiting in the wings.
She came to sing me back to sleep,
that deep-throated chanteuse.
I gave her some wiggle room, naturally.
She took me to books.
Looks like I’m back to training pants.
No chance for a fancy.
Her breathy bolero prances
up the length of my spine.