Smoke On The Water
You are wrapped in a fog
that your cold days can’t disperse.
Words huddle together
and burrow through,
arriving soggy,
sliding across your shell
like my hand through your hair -
unnoticed, leaving a trail
that the breeze will erase
as it shakes the night’s weave
of knots and tugs.
But today we hold hands and dance,
jumping as Ritchie’s guitar riff
shakes the windows,
laughter spilling from your open throat.
While the band search for Lake Geneva through smoke,
we crouch beneath the billows,
playing in shallows
as cool and clear
as rain.
For Joel
