Casting Our Lots
This bespelling June morning spells escape.
A gentle temptress, loving seductress,
New-bidden muse of mine
Has thrown her enchantments over my welcoming spirit.
I follow my piqued instincts not blindly
But not with completely reasoned insight, either,
As she and I prepare to cast our lots, in Manhattan,
Hoping destiny will select us,
Out of all those millions who know not each other,
To be its two chosen —
Together, forever, in a closeness defying anonymity.
06/17/10 - (1)
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