I met a man who said his name was Peter Gabriel.
A musician—
Listening intently…
He sang:
“Grab your things, I’ve come to take you home.”
And I cried with joy that it was done!
“My heart going, boom, boom, boom…”
Time drifted like a dream.
We were whistling…
A kitchen painted-yellow.
Three mice hanging daffodil-curtains.
A child inside a clock that couldn’t tell time.
Oatmeal warm on the stove.
Peter had a mustache made from cinnamon.
I spun graciously in a music box.
Pink steel-tip slippers!
The sky—fresh cherry pie—the rose in my cheeks.
Marital bliss on the drums –
“Shock the monkey!”
Upon awakening—
Head propped precariously in a generous dose of reality,
and not the arm of a knight, but a microfiber-couch.
Cold feet, but warm breath—story of my life.
Kisses still lingering in the air,
attempting to be caught—slippery bubbles.
Almost made it to the other side:
“Dressing up in costumes, playing silly games,
hiding-out in tree tops, shouting-out rude names.”
The place I call home!
A trick:
Fall in love, feel alive,
secure in chiffon-dreams.
Peter—making record sales to support an unprofitable poetry habit.
Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved
Dellymari's Blog 
Very whimsical, a dose of childhood! Love it!
Thank you!
This was brilliant, thank you!
😊 I’m glad you feel that way. Thank you!