Tripped into the ocean
the brown part, being beaten
by sunset breezes
in March.
We're on our way to Spain,
and her Spanish is getting better.
Tripped into walls of elevators
twelve floors, none house my fine ride,
my infinite ride
in March.
"You two are pretty sexy,
I think this is my floor."
Tripped over chairs only recently replaced by
involuntary passions, acts of incorporeal movement
that's the red I like to see
in March.
April rains shower us doubly,
bathed in chills of March.
Lightning strikes and the power's off:
we sleep cleanly in the vacuum.
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