Stories percolating through
The kingdom gates open–
circle to hustle the raconteur
for tales of her journey
“Wait for me, won’t you?”
I’ve been locked in the tendrils of your lunacy
Did your hometown Rockies quiver at the shudders of your mouth?
Fearing what unknowns you may spear next.
How do those same lips
that pout such deep pink
arouse tempests that melt snow caps to mountains’ knees.