Cross-eyed    shenanigans  and itchy fingers count on luck and lingering lapse     relentless jinx of a midnight  shellacking    down at the ol' skell shack  scene    and finally  the hours    ~draw    to a sparking  close...       suckering the fool  from a numbered peace,   ...

And There’s The Rub it would appear that by some   kind of accident .. I somehow discovered things about you that still frighten me and fall far beyond poetry and all that I love or hold   so dear .. now though, I hear you wear your hair at least shoulder   length and loose...