You, the wild girl,
And I, with my headache relievers,
Blow caulking off the bottom of ships
Because it’s a good day to sink a person’s hopes and dreams

You, the pretty little number,
And I, the romantic consort,
Blaze across canyons into the oblivion
Of a slowly-setting, cookie-cutter southern sun

The rooks of each other’s hearts, physical energy, and doggedness

© 2014 Dean Giordano

Dean Giordano is a New York transplant living in Texas. He received his BA from Texas Woman's University. Besides writing, he composes music, watches horror comedies, and bends over backwards for his pompous house cat.