Oh The Possibilities

She asked,
“Why do possibilities
seem to end
at the introduction
of rain?
There are more colors
than regret and sorrow;
more shades for
bliss to borrow
than dismay
and hollow.”

I figured,
we triggered
the trickle to dwindle
from deluge to timbrel
but this wasn’t simple.

We fiddled, we fumbled,
we diddled, we tumbled
and stumbled upon
like clashes of cymbals.

Bewildered,
befuddled,
we splashed in the puddles
then shuttled the mud
back to our shuttle;

which actually was home
a place we had flown
back from the books
from where we had grown.

The seeds were sown,
we dethroned the gnomes
that threatened our throne,
our garden of stones.

Hellish the battle
through lightening that crackled
and thunder that shackled
ear drums to be rattled.

But under our tent
noons we’d spent
imagining clouds
descending their scents.

Aroma of things
that we used to do
before we grew up
and abandoned our youth.

Tonight,
you choose.
We’ll bundle,
we’ll snuggle,
we’ll relight the fuse.
Redouble our cuddles
there’s no time to muse.

Roses will wilt.
Violins will play blues.
I’ll be your umbrella,
I’ll be your sombrero,
I will be your weather,
whatever you choose.

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