This is the start in my series of old poems that I haven’t been able to place and that don’t really reflect me or my writing anymore, but I think they are still worth a read and will connect with readers.
How could I, with the street signs
to guide my way?
The fiery sounds of pecks
coming from lovers around every darkened corner.
I use these sounds to direct me
away from wrong avenues
and romance’s doorway.
“Don’t get lost!”
I turn to respond
only to be greeted by the soft caressing scent
of a pine fire,
and I lose my step on
a loose piece of concrete.
Recovering from the temptation of fire
and gravity’s unrelenting trickery
I stumble home
trying not to laugh
as the street lamps pretend to be stars
in the fog.