Glass Poetry Press

Volume Six Issue One

Louie Crew

Near Plato's Cave

We were groping up the pebbled slope To find again our place in the moon Out of the nightshade though which We'd scrambled. You had only mild contempt For all my jokes and playful bugs placed Down your back, and I was about to say that joy is often tricks, that your doubts Have a more common origin, when, Standing to judge our progress, Suddenly you slipped upon your back And feet first darted towards The four-poster house my limbs had made, And I, to stop you, fell to catch you, And then we knew As surely as the unzipperer knows the unzipped.