oaken

A small token.

I’m secretly sentimental;
Not mental, but eye-quietly:

A man framed for family,
A man given o’er to what that is—

Porchlamp lit, holy shit, and I love you.

Not a place for inhumane-isms,
But a seat for a smile at them.

Humor’s too terribly insensitive;
‘Haps why I grab its branch

O’er its limp-limbed chuckle-stem.

Sarcasm’s the best sink for them
Who burn it on a blanch;

And a perfect pot to piss in—
Remember me, girls, as shadedly soft,

But heart-oaken.

—for Kiwi, Copperhead and Nonny,
Three of the very best human beings I’ve ever known. I love you—immeasurably.

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