Lily Pad Stocking

Will you take me far from here

Wrap my feet in lily pads

Hold me when I start to fear

Plaid stocking on whiskered lads?

Will you sing your merriment

Kiss my ears with boutonnieres

Take me where the sun’s been rent

Raincoats marked by angels’ tears?

Will you bless me in the snow

Breathe your spirit into mine

Throw me to a bed of blow

And ravish me for a sign?

Or will you render me moot

Stab what’s left of your third eye

Snuff out the wax with your soot

And cast me with a white lye?

Little lies and marmalade

Salted buttered toffee Tums

What’s left when my bed’s been made

And my escape’s short of sums.

Still I ask these questions fair

Will you, Will you, Will you, please

My upturned eyes a loud stare

Your high glance a lover’s tease.

All the while I itch my feet

‘Neath my lily pad stocking

And dream of the tinseled sweet

Your face traced in old caulking.

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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