Life in the bowl lane

The scene is set up time

and time

(AGAIN?)

for you my love

to come along with your masculine, rough hands

cradle my shiny surfaced but dusty insided self

you reach in grab my gut



just as I begin to think you'll hold me

close to picturesque chin and warm wintergreen flesh breath

you rip back your right arm with me dangling from your squeezing three fingers

and release

the frigid slick lane doesn't soften the fall

I don't bruise or dent

lucky for you huh

the fast approaching pins send my stagnant thoughts of you whirring

you don't hear the crash as I meet the angry faces of 10 scuffed yellowed pins

your back is already turned

recording your points

surveying shinier more rounded victims

But still waiting (AGAIN?)

for me to come creeping into your yellow-lit grasp

so you can pick me up again

because you like the way I glide right through the center

never straying

but knocking 'em all dead