honey, this syrup of time
slowly savored by the spoon
rapture
and cinema of events to come

joy that has
harnessed the benefits
of independence
and comfort with
wonder for the unfolding

released from the cliche of invocation
or the sing-song the way it always has been
freedom from the call and response
and eye for an eye

assimilation into
what has been laid out
is an arranged marriage of sorts
beige fabric being told that it is
the reddest red.

passion exists
without warfare
but not without air

its release is proportionate to
the time deliciously
or maliciously spent
creating the honey
of its play

© Tom Watters  10/5/07