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High Ho

Rods, 

throaty, gravel racked voice, cut.... across, the dark shadowy floor.

While, I held you in my arms.

While, Charlie, and the lingering scent, of... Opium. 

Filled the air.

Above it all.... Rod told us, that Maggie had...

and did.

So I held you tighter, 

wishing you were Maggie.

For I could taste, 

the VO5, on your hair.

As the creaking, old gym floor.....

joined in.

Mocking the swaying, paper mache streamers.

Hanging, limply...... from the walls.

I thought perhaps if it all stayed constant 

I had a 6.02214129 x 1023, chance of a kiss.

Hey ho

Avogadro 

Giajl © Jim Love