There’s a certain magic in the air.
Of a Virtual Variety.
What we are—I don’t know or care to define.
I will protect our secret like an illusionist—No, I won’t touch it. I can’t lose it.
I want to drown in our mystery bank—only to emerge once more unscathed.
I want you to remain the escape artist I admire from afar…
While you feel
Close Enough to Touch.
Satellites from the prairie crash into my big city reveries…we will remain star crossed—by no plane our paths cross…only in this realm can we dance in the galaxy of our bayou—because every day is Mardi Gras with you:
You make me bare my chest.
You see those bright lights? Center stage awaits us. You are a true Dorothy Dietrich. Me? I’m here trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat. I’ve heard that we are only allowed to have three great ones in our lives. Sonny LoSpecchio said that. But my sleight-of-hand lacks grace or command, so if you are the last that I may lose—I dread the performance of a Hat Trick.
My three great loves were actually three great wishes that never were. Whenever I tried to work my magic—the clout disappeared. Even when life fades, the stars remain in the sky; so you’ll maintain your position on my “Wish List.” I envision our stars aligning, and I see fireworks. Yes, I see cosmic rays of neon lights with our names written all over them. We’d show out like showgirls, with a panoramic view of the scintillating starbursts that shine, “Special for you and me.” I intend to hold the sparkling glitter of this mental eruption in the palms of my stems… for should this intricate magic that we have worked so hard to master become a reality in which the luster lies in the performance of my clumsy, inept hands…
I am afraid that this glitter will reveal as dust.
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