Poise, My Dear
The quiver of a lover, Cupid's arrows.
How quaint, indeed, this talk of love.
You quiver at the question, the proposal.
This puts us both in a quandary.
A platinum sky, platinum words
on the quay one day--they say
it's all muddy waters.
You say that you prefer PLATINUM to gold?
Ah, the smell of money, unlike perfume.
A rank smell--a penance for greed.
Poise, my dear. Poise. Take the silver ring,
please.
Written 3/1/21 for MIND YOUR P's AND Q's Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Michelle Faulkner
Won First Place
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