Tic Tac Toe?
A hankerin’
an unscratched itch
which one doesn’t wish to scratch for one
a need for heat and warmth
a turnstile dreamer ushers night to morn.
A what the hell
why not devil may care
for who else does?
The siren calls Ulysses to her gate.
Flower scents surmount
the desert dryness of aging heroines.
Lotharios play grinding tic tac and toes
searching for the golden fleece.
And neither Heaven nor Hell
concerns themselves
with such mundane matters.
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