Rich

17 Apr 98

Slap me down with gilded tongue
as you whisper ear-candy that I gobble down
and wish my heart into your hands.
Wild one, restless child,
let me into your gyrating sphere
as we dance through wind
and tightrope the Appalacian Trail.
Call me to your world
as we tred dirt paths
that few dare take
and fall through the space in our minds.
What would I give
peace of mind
red thoughts of violence
this, my solace,
to own that feeling
that I sense in your voice?

© 1998, Tara Tambolleo