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in radical sundown is th' girl in the golden gown, pretty as a ripplin'
lake and her ideas of Sicily, the sun sinkin' down lappin' up water till she is
awake, and, soon it will dawn that not now and never is she really alone
although the body's a part and apart in the dark where even she had been movin'
to, movin' on her own, to the tomb; but, like Lazarus, she now lives making
her mark, gaining at night, pressing to the light, in reckless abandon and
flight, before a man, who, like the wild wind, tips his top hat to her in
March weather, keeps whisperin' to her sweet things like a honeybee checkin' out
heather, buzzing about her and when they finally meet, before she lowly
bows and says (sweetly) 'my name is Heather, and, I believe you be
lovin' me now, like an angel, and will always be lovin' me more than
ever..and, I wonder, when you're ready, do you think we could go and get
some dessert?' 'just dessert?' 'yep!' 'perfect', he says; 'truly, it'll be my
treat..'
�2003 go |
