What right have we to happiness?

None.  But I guess

the instinct goes

too deep, and flows

beneath the damaged years, the mess -

a primal yes.

Despite the blows,

the bleak althoughs

which signal – daily – SOS,

nevertheless

the heart yo-yos

and trusts rainbows.

 

So I believe (while you undress)

in life’s largesse.

Tonight, all woes,

all quid pro quos,

all premonitions of distress,

we shall suppress.

Here, now, time slows,

all its side shows

outside this room are in recess.

Such moments bless:

we’re friends, not foes –

 

till the cock crows.




First published in Snakeskin 242, July 2017