Reclining in your love
is like an old sun-worn
children's swing.

I let my feet off the ground
and they set sail in azure skies.

You alone are thunderstorms,
unanticipated doorbells,
colors shining in ripples
over fire of wild brush.

I never meant to find you
on that sunny sidewalk,
in all that lilac-scented air.

Your sweet cologne spoke
of men in old, nostalgic films.
Take my hand, transform me
onto that imagined screen.

We will never see
the dead-end signs
on this road to glory.

How do I expect you?
How could I have known
your voice floats above jazz
streaming from the corner lot?

Keep me distracted, my dear,
and we won't glimpse inevitability.