Margot On My Arm

A night out in Downtown Knoxville, with Margot on my arm.

Dining at some fine place, winning her with my wit and charm.

White wine and succulent feasts, the music slow and romantic.

I would be bright as the sun in her eyes, not broken and frantic.

 

The night warm in early May, whipping her golden hair in whips.

She would laugh, and I’d kiss her head, as the moon continues it’s trips

around the stardust oceans and would take a moment to shed a glow

on a night more perfect, and more wounding, than most mortals know.

 

We’d watch a classic film at the Tennessee Theatre: “Roman Holiday”.

We’d be lovers caught in a dream of innocence, the night ours to play.

Great romance on a silver screen could give our own dalliance a wink.

Kiss her now, hold her now, look at those green eyes now, before they blink.

 

At Volunteer Landing, the lights of Gay Street Bridge melting in the water,

we’d snuggle and whisper our secrets and pick names for a future daughter.

We’ll make oaths to each other, vows of devotion we can’t help but break.

A moment in time this perfect drugs us and we forget what we have at stake.

 

Naked embrace after love making, my face in her golden hair, my mind calm.

The touch of another, and the dream of sex, is a devious and fruitful balm.

What if morning never came, and we only dreamed here forever, untroubled.

What if we could be as happy as this, our perfect hearts light mightily doubled.

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