P.O. box

Of course I don’t know what is
Inside each of these boxes
All the same on the outside
Stupid like smartest foxes
Hiding the games inside

Or opened roses drinking rain
By and for men. Don’t speak in vain
Perfumed swatches hiding pain
Skin and eyes talk insane
under goldy locks and key

Ebony. Ivory.
A bible phrase
Some baby speak

And than there’s Emily’s
An envelope for worlds to read
Her smile a path to memories
And Melody. Missing since
She hitched a ride
Into obscurity
Or Gertrude’s latest delivery
Moth ball promises and
Golf balls hooked into
Her fattest cat’s atrophy

Bob’s fishing lure
Bright yet obscure
Dangles just below the surface
You’ll just never know
All the stories to be told
How many the lines and verses

Truth be told
Open a book by saying hello
The key may turn
And yes you’ll learn
Henry is quite the fellow

2 thoughts on “P.O. box”

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