Smooth As
Slippery silk.
We missed the kiss of passion,
It didn’t quite connect,
Leaning at an angle,
I nearly kinked my neck.
Walking up steep Percival Street,
Puffing as I went,
After the rehearsal,
Feeling slightly bent.
Cockies on the corner,
In the cool night air,
Printed on the pavement,
Percival’s despair.
Winging through the rolling waves,
Weaving up the street,
All done on autopilot,
Whenever strangers meet.
Slowing to a snail’s pace,
Seeking out a space,
Parking on a parallel,
Making it my place.
One step after the other,
For the last ascent,
Whisper quiet the key glides in,
I wonder where you went.
Doing it in dulcet tones,
Smooth as slippery silk,
Sending it to cyberspace,
Extra creamy milk.
The mystery is the history,
Short as apple strudel,
Walking down the avenue,
Diddle, diddle, doodle.
Edging near the underworld,
Coffee and sorbet,
Kiss across the front seat,
Then call it a day.
©
David Rudder
2023
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