Patches of Friendship

She tangos the subtle notions; and our hands are drenched in
Paint. I whisper: magic doesn’t rest; and she laughs a French horn.
We crave cigars; and maybe one last cigarette; but love would
Wring us; for the stench is so loud. And what a secret: a cinema
Of events; and flutes dazzle something deep. Her father taught
Her piano; and she loves to impress him; and he loves to watch
Her; and mother plays the cello. So I asked: Is the pain deeper

Than notes? “Sometimes,” she said. We drove up the ‘set,
Looking for a beach. But we failed to make it; and failed to see;
And parked near Brentwood, sitting off the inebriation.

Our love is Moon Pies and Pepsi; and what a combination. We
Share and sing and dream out openly. And all the time, we rebuke
A thought; and all the time, we walk temptation.

Once she put out her hand, and said: “Here’s a bouquet of visions,
My friend.” And we fell into a picnic.