From Beautiful Locks

For seven miles we hoofed it

Chasing after a good idea
The waters stopped searching
For the ocean and puddled
I poured myself a mule
A wounded mule wiped
From beautiful locks.

And sugar- rimmed streets 

Made muddy by the rain 

Were your eyes prettier
Then the look
Of a sandwich?
Grab at the hardware 

And then home to a quatrain

 On love

Clear as the bottom of a lake
Where you and I were 

Charged with swimming.