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with my wind-blown mane riding with time’s first cherubic chance
the early dusk’s gate opens; “ Oh,Frank..it’s you”, he smiles in a trance

in the porch, trays of capers and breeze of tea sing of smiles, so much to know
he slowly rewinds pages of Hispanic tales; i feel his poetry and life escapades grow

we sip our passion for books and rare sentiments, bonding like old friends for hours
rising then pausing about music, humor and tears, lost loves and even April showers

his peppered hair defies what he calls gentle aging, punch lines grant us release
as stars shape an ending of one night with pleasant tingles of fun and deep peace

after a slight buddy pat, i hand him my painting with hopes we  meet once more
knowing he warmly enjoys the gypsy and angel in me, as i gaily walk out the door




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(( for Michael Falotico's " First Words Over Coffee"))
    by nette onclaud

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