Forbidden cricket song
hills of grassy fields without mowing,
resonate a gushing spring worth welling,
your hairy shanks tonight slide
against me, hidden by cuff of jean,
vegetation’s swelling I know
mother nature’s maestro
no feline stomach could play
poetry scraping me to sleep.
Walking home
My foot crushes a dead leaf crunching,
Wind whispers between my legs and pants in my ear.
The chill chides my choice of one shirt rippling?
Dreaming of warmth walking home,
Shaking at the thought, shivering at the cold
Walking home.