The little things make life beautiful.
Marigolds and hops in the garden.
Miniskirts at the station.
A comfortable seat with leg room.
We could work naked,
relax and know each other beautiful
but we do not.
I retreat to little things.
Mozart and coffee in a quiet restaurant.
Oatmeal with raspberries and yogurt.
A call from one who waits with marigolds and hops.
Vision of the wonderful line that arcs
below her ear
and tempts my lips
to kiss her neck …
On the street, dirty city street,
god-must-hate-cities city street,
people three and four abreast,
shoulder to shoulder strangers,
weaving to avoid contact,
desperate eyes filled with disappointment,
fear, betrayal.
I try to maintain a sense of joy.
If we loved our bodies
for what they are,
if we shared our bodies
for what we are
… communicated with caress …
but we do not.
Between leaves of
neurotic, potted bushes
scattered light dances breeze.
Stop!
Exhale!
Inhale!
Invoke the ancient Rite
of Perception Shift.
…
Intelligent eyes
of passers-by
meet
smile and walk on.
Thigh outlined beneath
well-draped fabric
of well-shaped dress
strides across Howard Street.
From the wall
of the hotel lobby
ignored paintings
sing Imagination’s
flight toward the Sun.
The little things make life.
Originally posted September 30, 2008