Courtship’s Drunk-Witted Courtsey

Bitter chewed, melted matt with a

fair share to tip,

mounted on a whisper to carry

an urn to tally the stir.

In the Torchlight Cáfe,

the face-off saving couples

stranded way past the light of garden,

shaving births of wool, wood, words and worth

an idle trifle although mean, met; need it be relieved

seems to have hung, best off the edge of cliff, and sung.

So see, the eyes of the eager and touch of the tired –

hovering honey play of bees, fireflies and dragons.


© Prateek Joshi, WordPress, 2017

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