Formal Attire
It was like they just got married,
the sunset and the orange snow fence
stretched across the tree row.
The smoke from farmers burning
c.r.p.
hung in the valley between them,
blue bleary sky,
but could not choke their desire.
They reached for each other across
the mid-april plains.
Having fulfilled his winter-bound duty
the fence looked like pumpkin patches
despite the early spring and haze the
high pressure made.
Having exhausted her daylight camber
the candled orb lay down
casting confetti
across the bedpost's horizon.
And no one knew they had loved all winter,
waiting only spring's first formal attire.
Mark Phillips
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