We’ve known it beyond those frozen moments
before the bonfire ignited after
our young hayrides. Remember, love, foment
of pouring flames toward heaven, our laughter
following bellowing smoke turning stars
to charred martyrs, once witnesses to our
rolling, uncushioned kisses and bizarre
caresses within that leaping boudoir.
Oh, let’s find those old wagons, sweet refuge
from authority, where we shielded hearts
from knifing winds with crushed hugs, knowing huge
blazes awaited, unaware we’d start
too soon fearing tyrant paychecks and bills,
fiery smiles fading to stark stares that kill.
Roger Armbrust
December 30, 2009
