Cacophony of the Soul

Tell you what,

my mistake,

was.

It's OK,

to have a mis,

understanding,

even if it,

misses,

the mark.

But there are some,

things,

better left,

undone,

unsaid,

untouched,

un,

necessary.

A mis,

take is just,

a heartthrob,

gone wrong,

flight of fancy,

or in,

appropriate gesture.

Rummaging,

about the Maritimes,

is always a crapshoot,

you never know,

what you might find,

or trip over.

But if you're lucky,

and things,

go your way,

you might just,

find,

yourself,

there and then.

Under this,

is that,

and it can be moved,

or unmoved,

just like the Frenchman,

who can take it or leave it,

just like I,

can or can,

not.

The Frenchman comes to her

side in their bed,

she lights the candles,

plays the music of her time,

country songs about the blue,

moon.

He just looks into her eyes,

in the light of the candles,

he can not avoid,

the truth,

as his hand retraces,

the familiar path.

Index finger upon her forehead,

ever so gentle,

celebrate the touch,

eyes locked together,

he can see so much more,

turning his finger backward,

to join several others,

and brush lightly,

moving slowly into her hair,

his face moves closer,

to watch her eyes react,

to his touch.

His hand intervenes,

with her thick long hair,

he cocks his head sideways,

for a moment,

transfers his glance,

to his hand,

and her long,

brown hair,

as he moves along,

the contour.

This is a celebration,

perhaps a ritual,

but the spirit moves,

the two of them,

to feel,

much more than,

the obvious.

Winter is closing in,

the fire keeps them warm,

their hearts keep,

their souls warm,

the breeze surrounds them.

There is always,

something,

underneath,

and either you reach for it,

or imagine it,

either way,

it is still beautiful in the,

last analysis.

The Frenchman,

seems to have made all,

the right choices,

my mis,

take.

My mis,

take,

was messing around,

with that damn.

red moon,

lunar eclipse,

toasting it,

hanging with it,

making a wish or two.

Aristotle knows,

Friction man knows,

even the Splatter people know,

you don't mess around,

with that moon,

unless you mean,

what you mean.

But,

that was,

my mis,

take.