Don’t Take The Closet Metaphor Too Seriously

If I had a tuxedo
Made of golden water
Whose glamor under starlight
Has not been equaled yet

You would find it in my closet
Hidden in the darkness,
For when I don tuxedoes
I do not want to get wet.

So bedecked in wool and cotton
I dream of yonder maid unknown,
Her gown a golden fountain.
On her my heart is set.

And I think of my tuxedo
Growing stagnant on its hook
Because its owner fears the chance
Of some unearned regret.

I hope my fountain is patient
For the tuxedo she hasn’t met.


Leave a comment

Filed under Poems

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s