The tapioca-sky keeps
her secrets close to her bosom,
she stays silent,
plucking her eye-brows, brooding
with thunderhead tongue,
but when I deal she says
sits speechless and smiles.
Is she content
with a passable pair of eights
or a full house of aces and knights
pulled from the sleeves of her cumulus-dress?
The tension is building,
tiptoes galvanic, magnetic when
she opens and cackles
revealing her flashes,
her flow and her rain,
her blessing and curse,
flowing to rivulets, rivers
turning dirt into puddles and mud,
turning deserts to lakes,
and I trade my chips for seed-pods and grain,
From this our harvests are born.
Today it’s Open Link Night at dVerse , Grace hosts and the bar is open.
October 15, 2020