down the road
How discombobulated you’d be by the things that I’d do. Late at night I’d knock at your door gowned in muslin and fragile moon haze. You would take me to your arms for my warm comfort after my mind-numbing days.
On languid summer afternoons, I’d saunter by to join you in your jazz fest hammock nest. When fireflies and crickets would start their twilight play, we’d follow suit in sweetness and damp. Your beard would be wet with dew before the predawn hour.
There are times I’d come to you tense as an out-of-tune piano wire. You would brush my hair. I’d groom you like a cat — with care. We’d tangle in frantic therapeutic moves wrestling in front of the Cherrywood fire.
If you lived up the road from me, how bumpy and unpredictable your days and nights would be, my sovereign. Sprites would people your life, all to be in the company of this astral traveling husband and wife.
Just so you are aware before the time is due, what will happen when I live down your road from you.