At the volta of the delta,
stuck in indecision’s swelter,
I released the muse and felt her
slip away.
Though I thought my words would melt her
as they tumbled, helter-skelter,
she instead preferred a shelter
from the fray;
and in silence there she knelt, her
bright eyes burning like a smelter,
while I played my ace, and dealt her
two and treys.
18 FEB 2003
© 2003 – 2017, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.
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