Midwest Massage
Vast Nebraska sky,
sienna-hued droplets
meld together
forming dusk’s tapestry.
Towering meadow blades -
cool as creamsicles,
stroke my weary head and
tickle my naked frame.
Soothing northwest breezes
leaving Manitoba,
slither through
a nebula of stars -
gathering miniscule
buttercup petals.
I see them
being spun into
a feverish night waltz,
whilst my body lies drenched
underneath the nocturnal shadow play
of placid moonbeams.
I reflect upon the evening’s
natural merriment -
my private Midwest massage;
therapeutic services
not rendered on the
sticky isle of Manhattan.
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