My love lives in a lighthouse,
and it lies in lavender
clover;
Cheek to pillowed breast;
we'll watch the clouds
turn into sailboats
and he'll strum the sun
from the strings
of his guitar.
He'll sing me in love
from a balcony blue,
over the umbrella coast,
where life is like
a song
in Etta James heaven
and it will be ok
to grow old because
we'll have each other.
At noon We'll drink
till our blood
is wine rich,
then We'll send our
drunken songs
out over the ocean.
We'll put daisy's
in glassware and set
them on the table, then
We'll take out the old
phono and our favorite
albums,
and We'll tap our toes
on the good hardwood
with our friends.
At dusk our poetry
will strike the beacon
and send it lightspeed
out over the welcoming waves;
in praise; for the gull
filled dawn and another
day I get to be with you.