by Ginnah Howard

Could I cache your kisses?

Run them stuff-jawed

to some dark stash.  Braid blisses

of these cornucopian dawns

to hang vaulted in golden hoards.

Safe deposit certain smiles,

line them for winter

on warehouse walls.


How many seasoned,

how many green

cords of warmth would I need

to get through April's

final storms?


Secure from February snow,

I could be a prodigal spender;

what would I care of income, outgo?

Risk extravagance,

sipping these sweet liqueurs

to tipsy dance

till frogs, spring dervish.

Then peep out like crocus,

a winter stowaway impervious.