I really can’t be more polite than this,
but I think I can be more direct.

Do what you do,
don’t stop now.

Those electric blue dragonflies
appear to be following.

Cascade baby,
whiz by your chin like a high fade.

Zip the mitt,
pop-pop the web.

Two and ohnooooo!

Sometimes I crack myself – pour and flow, keep my sunny side – up.

Slow riders on quick dreamscapes
flutter-by like Ali in Zaire.

Tight wire, but a thick rope,
looks like somebody knew their knots.

Love you, blow you kisses,
bring you moons, safe harbor-lights.

I love the spaces you carve when you dance,
a little shoulder shake.

Birds singing over Harlem, in free-fall,
like a lullaby.

We’re going bye-bye baby,
dress nice, smell something good,
and I’ll do the same, pressed tight,
stinging like a-bee-a-back-beat-jab,
simple cymbals, rope-a-dopamine,
to calm the jitters, feet
all tangled up but then . . .

I glide –
oh yes!
and then I slide –
tada!

© Carlos Chagall, 2013