There’s a new mountain range on those abs
I’ve never crossed, explored, or camped on, Doc,
and while I wish to reach out, plot my exhibition,
who knows the flags flying atop those peaks.
I’ve hidden under his rainbow before,
and there’s no pot of gold, only pot,
groovy music, and a colorful umbrella,
fully functional and flapping in the wind.
My vermillion toes tingling in his surf, Doc,
and coconut legs fallen from other trees
are only drupes feigning almond
after hours of careful soaking in sun.
He has that hat on again, and it makes
me feel like the heroine in a Croc. Dundee film.
His smile a full moon and there’s only one moon.
Doc, I thought I’d given up on attraction to the lunes.
Sexiness is buried in that grin,
I take another sip of gin, depression,
yeah, thanks for the hard session.
©K.Hartless, 2021, All Rights Reserved
This piece is being shared with dVerse — Open Link Night 293. Join us.
This piece is inspired by “A Hard Body of Life” which can be found in a great collection of short fiction, “Wading on the Moon.”
Artwork by Tim Sanders
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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