Swinging

Ghost swing: 

You will be there: 

Uniformed...

Perhaps mismatched...

Sometimes he turns it on, and you can't hear yourself for some moments. 

Will you chip at the already cracked paint on my roomy vessel?

It was too colorful, anyway,

or maybe it was just how I wanted it. 

Too bad now...

 I am not sure it's going to float.

The ocean salt tore the interior and exterior, swinging its Poseidon arms.

But I thought you were wrapped up: a soft blanket around

new skin.

But instead you are red.

And I am red.

And I don't have a boat anymore.

Who Are You?

Tell me: What is your timbre? Is it an animal call in

the woods? The type that startles the smallest slug...

Or are you more the car's tires hitting 

the rain puddles? You can't really hear it below the cab driver shouting and the pans crashing in a street side restaurant.

I long to know the pattern of the composer's composition. 

And when the woman in the shiny dress emerges from the red curtain, I will follow along with my bow, poised

for the movements.