Tulips

The thought of you
pulls me out of the present.
rocket to the moon
out of blue lagoon

The thought of you
drops me a cauldron
pine and sugar
now stir that potion

The thought of you
me buying perfume
no more old spice
in the bedroom

The thought of you-
season to bloom
spring in my step
flowers assume

Tulips and two lips
in Chicago winter;
nothing better
than to kiss her

tongue and lips
guide the hips
swing and sway
drift away

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