Candace Spells It Out Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Talk to me not of infatuation and roses;
fatuous poses are for the young
and the hungry tongue
of rhymster and harlequin.

Do not conjure up dervishing
sensations to twirl in my mind,
the dizzifying kind
that ravish my senses
and leave me wide-eyed
like someone withdrawing
from nicotine.

Refrain from “rescuing me.”
Leave me to float
or miss the boat
or gulp the water or the air,
if you really care.

Sit next to me,
here on this bench
in the park,
closer.

K-I-S-S M-E, dammit!