The Long Way Home

trotting across my back field there’s a storm brewing-in it’s misty friend is climbing through the cold, prickly wires Delicately drenched, as wet as a dog’s kiss, there’s a-storm brewing-in it’s casual pal is breezing- bothering the wicker trees. his smile- brightens my mind like the italian renaissance. inhaling red tipped cigarettes we chat under the glistening leaves. But there’s a storm brewing-in it’s hamper full dirty laundry is drying- stringing across my back yard. his laugh- is as pleasing as old dogs learning new tricks. Just one more outburst, and I swear this storm will turn to stone. I bask- his attention is as gratifying as a masters gentle stroke just one more round of darting eyes and light hearted jokes. I realize now, He grumpiness does best to protect what’s raw and rare- from the snakes who try to tear us away from home. Like stumpy cigarettes, hanging off the tips of tough our lips. we’ll share each other’s worlds. Yes, Like stumpy cigarettes, hanging off the tips of tough our lips. Come- let’s melt into each other’s worlds.