Dancing To the Music of Fireflies
Sound of gravel crunching
On a lonely country lane
Then parking neath an ol’ Oak Tree
Radio softly playing
An ol’ George Jones song
Of broken hearts and misery
The hypnotic rise,
before one’s eyes
That only fireflies can bring
The swirling sigh
of hormone’s tide
The intoxicating smell of spring
The night slips by
The moon hangs high
honey locust blossoms scent the air
My hands cradle your head
I bury my face
in the musky perfume of your hair
Your lips to mine
Our legs and arms entwined
Our bodies start to sway
And we slow dance…
To the music of fireflies
…Until the light of day…
Copyright © David O'Haolin Whalen | Year Posted 2012
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