One Minute More

Oh lay with me one minute more perhaps you'll make it three,
There is no place we have to go as far as I can see,
Two smiles upon our faces now; they beam in such a way,
For life has been agreeable to us, we'd have to say.

Come stay with me one minute more perhaps you'll make it four,
And we can make some other plans before we hit the door,
Two hearts are beating here right now, they glow in such a way,
For life has been amenable to us, we'd have to say.

Yes, stay with me one minute more perhaps you'll make it five,
For later we could leave and take a destination drive,
Two minds are melding here right now they mesh in such a way,
For life has been acceptable to us, we'd have to say.

Now stay with me one minute more perhaps you'll make it six,
Another time will ponder the fine dinner that we'll fix,
Two lives experienced right now and loved in such a way,
For life has been enjoyable to us, we'd have to say.

Oh stay with me one minute more perhaps you'll make it sev'n,
We'll hold each other; love once more twill send us back to heav'n,
Two souls together here right now, and bound in such a way,
For life has been so pleasureable to us, we'd have to say.

Peter Lowell Paulson
November 19, 2011

Fire Dance

Her fire dance,
A pure romance,
Bare knees to toes,
As round she goes,
All eyes on her,
All hearts astir,
The flame and fire,
Pour forth desire,
Fire fingers leapt,
And she is swept,
Fair laughing she,
Her arms are free,
She springs as such,
Her toes bare touch-
The ground below,
As up she’ll go,
And lovely girl,
Each gingered curl-
And strand does flow,
As round she’ll go,
She’ll only fly,
When embers die,
‘Til then in trance,
She’ll fire dance.

Peter Lowell Paulson
November 9, 2011

Our Wanderlust

I love to travel and to loom,
With leisure in our hotel room,
Away from home it is a must,
Dear solitude; a wanderlust.

With you my friend my lovely bride,
My travel buddy by my side,
We journey and shake off the dust,
Enveloped in our wanderlust.

It could be near or far off place,
We fly away and leave no trace,
A will to wend in constant trust,
Within the wake of wanderlust.

The countryside, Paris or Rome,
Together close we’re always home,
Our sign in hand, “It’s ‘There’ or Bust,”
A wonderland; our wanderlust.

Peter Lowell Paulson
November 4, 2011