well would you? (revised)

lie with me under the tree
where money grows but it doesn’t matter

nor the outstretched limbs of mendicants
wrestling each other down in the shadows

and stroll together like love’s big feet
neither in the lead nor following

but there where the moon tugs
on the tide to cover its footprints

where nothing of value can be held
put in a jar or labeled

as free as mahogany
horsepaddling the Atlantic

just floating now
between the calliope chords

of the clouds and home’s
mindless whistle

looking up at the rain
falling in polka dots

but not touching
this patch of ground

which beckons
like a blouse

and death is just
one last button

to undo.