Recipe for Living
Sun’s rise whispers of adventure. I burrow deep under the blankets.
Mountain men proclaim their awesome view but life happens in the valley.
Silent, grateful, I relish the vista. Speaking exposes my folly.
Doubtful, I slip her a five and turn away from her claim of hunger.
I speed toward the yellow light. Was the minute almost saved worth it?
Doc demands, “No sweets!” but forbidden chocolate tastes more exquisite.
Cold beer extinguishes bitter flavor of Sunday hellfire tirade.
Taught to live in fear and hide, I want to shout from the roof: “Here I am!”
In worthy trial, hobby vintner ferments yam wine, now knows better.
Words inked onto empty sheet ensnare fleeting images – soul selfies.
I turn the page, adrift in unexplored realms bound only by whimsy.
Trees dance and sing of beauty and love. I run naked into the woods.
Friends folded in each other’s arms, cheek to cheek, floating in relevance.
His tongue presses against my lips, petitions for holy sacraments.
Settled in bed, one hand roams, one pinpoints pleasure coaxed from solitude.
Sun’s set suggests sweet slumber. I turn on lights, increase TV’s volume.
Poet’s ornate ramblings bestow doubtful wisdom. Best to improvise.
©2019 Kenneth W. Arthur