I wonder then

Many have as well

What our purpose

In this world

May be

And yet

These wonders,

I wonder

Do they occur

To the common salamander

As she rests

Betwixt the underside

Of a rotting log

And the mossy ground?

No,

I don’t think they do.

So then,

Just as she - the tiny and color splotched salamander, does

Prancing her joyful dance on the forest floor after each fresh rain

Digging her soft fingers into the moistened ground for grubs

Migrating from the water and wiggling to the forest and then back again

All the while these wonders occur outside her musings

Just as she,

So too will I

On the edge of twenty one.

I was young, wild, and free.

Harming no one but myself with good times and whiskey neats.

He was there too, so available but unattainable.

The attraction was strong, undeniable.

Chemistry between us so hot, electrifying, flammable.

We were friends at first, then lovers at a later date.

Wild rides together on dirt roads, back seats, and tailgates.

His blue eyes and toothy grin made my body ache.

“I’d go anywhere with you.”, from the bottom of his heart.

Moonshine soaked nights, forgetting where we parked.

Strolling down Royal Street, looking for that bar.

Walking through that corn field because I never had before.

All the passionate fights, racy nights, and the time we broke the head board.

We created something there isn’t words for.

On the edge of thirty three.

Still young, wild, and free.

He’s there too. Forever & always. Undeniably.

Listen. It's time we talk.

Do you mind going for a walk?

I know you love things simple,

but your meato-keto diet gave your smile another dimple.

Time to take away the bourbon you consume with your beast of burden.

For you are not a caveman

nor a farmer of the land,

but rather

a 21st century man.

In the rain I like singing

and in puddles jumping

occasionally dancing

alternatively dashing

running and rushing

from downpours escaping;

but if it’s just misting

or dripping and spritzing

a gentle though chilly face and hand wetting

hand in hand with my darling

to be sure I’ll be ambling

or quite slowly strolling

frequently joking

and chatting and laughing

till tears are a’flowing

and we are a’rolling

faces a’glowing

all the while knowing

the rain we’re not noting

our steps it’s not slowing

lost as we are in the moment, the loving

Michaelangelo wouldn't make ,

such work in marble,

if unweary of the cracks.

wobbly we meet in the terminal,

stumbling, over suitcases,

some forgive and smile,

unweary of the cracks.

Write what you know.

Know what you write.

Write what you love.

Love what you write.

Either way, Just write.