The grandfather’s chair

Whenever I sit in the grandfather’s chair

I dream what I wish for – that you would be there

in a disorganised muddle – I fuddle about

stumbling on affection – tripping on doubt

yet in your eyes I see a girl –

sweet and serene – as if you’re careening – 

I canoodle and cartwheel as I try to find meaning

we’re the what in the why and the how within showing

as I follow a butterfly on a leaf in a flutter

(like cream rising to top when we mix milk with butter)

you’re my sweet summer sunflower in polk-a-dot dresses

that fall off your shoulder under long flowing tresses

I reach out to touch you with the tip of my finger

on the nape of your neck is where my touch lingers

you are my red and my yellow – my green and my blue

the most wonderful rainbow remaining in view

the butterfly fluttering – always on cue

in the grandfather’s chair I dream only of you

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