Poise, My Dear

The quiver of a lover, Cupid's arrows. How quaint, indeed, this talk of love. You quiver at the question, the proposal. This puts us both in a quandary. A platinum sky, platinum words on the quay one day--they say it's all muddy waters. You say that you prefer PLATINUM to gold? Ah, the smell of money, unlike perfume. A rank smell--a penance for greed. Poise, my dear. Poise. Take the silver ring, please. Written 3/1/21 for MIND YOUR P's AND Q's Poetry Contest Sponsored by Michelle Faulkner Won First Place