Why could we not just be together?
Two houses connected by a secret tunnel.
You would not clip my wings
and I 'd not suck you dry. Comfortable
as a pile of shed feathers or a sloughed
skin coiled on a still- warm rock.
Even though autumn knocks on
summer's door and the sun paints
longer shadows with black ink.
I could feed all the cats your late nights.
You could water my tomatoes my weekends away.
All the other times, I'd read you poetry aloud, you'd write
articles and our toes might tap together beneath
afternoon' s afghan in purple & orange socks.
"Ask the Girl Arts....because girls can do anything!"