Bruce, Love, Chest Feel, Romance, Bed, Sleep, Christmas
DAVID 444
BRUCE’S CHRISTMAS DREAM
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and throughout the penthouse,
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..
Our tummies were full of hors d’oeuvres and champagne
from the fancy soiree at the Helmsley Park Lane.
Our trousers were hung in the armoire with care,
and our crisp, white tuxedo shirts also were there.
And we were both covered all snug in the bed
while visions of wedding rings swirled in my head.
I nestled my head on his broad, manly chest,
and pressed myself closer and so came to rest.
When out on Fifth Avenue there arose such a clatter
I sprang out of bed to see what was the matter.
I ran to the window, my warm robe in tow
and gazed at Manhattan spread out all below.
The moon high above cast a silvery light
on all the skyscrapers aglow in the night.
The Empire State Building shone line a pearl
and here and there snowflakes flew by in a whirl.
The taxis, they sparkled. The streetlights–so bright!
The stars twinkled merrily. Oh what a sight.
And what, to my wondering eyes did appear
but a glowing delivery truck pulling up near.
It had no insignia, label, or sign.
Nor chevron or circle, nor a word or a line.
The only effect that could be called decor
were long lines of jingle bells crossing each door.
The wheels stayed quite still, yet the vehicle moved.
Through the cold frosty night it convincingly proved
that this was no regular hauler of freight.
Like a heavenly van, it skimmed streets like a skate.
The driver was old, with a beard white as snow,
and a great big round tummy and a tie like a bow.
His belt and his boots were of black, patent leather,
and his red dungarees kept him safe from the weather.
His cargo he searched with amazing distress
through boxes from FedEx and too, UPS.
From countries afar, crate and carton were tossed.
“I know it’s inside here,” he said. “It’s not lost.
Not Japan, not Taiwan, not Australia or Spain.
Not Iran, nor Peru. Not Bhutan or Ukraine.”
He finally pulled, from a great canvas bag,
a jewelry box with a little gold tag.
I saw him walk into the building’s front hall
The guard looked right past him, and no one at all
seemed to see him stroll in, but what struck me much more
was that one second later he knocked at our door!
Seventy floors? In the blink of an eye?
The only way up I would think is to fly!
He must be an angel, or some kind of saint.
I grabbed at the drapes for I thought I would faint.
And in strolled my big handsome boyfriend unwed.
He opened the door, genuflected and said,
“Saint Nicholas, oh I just knew you’d succeed.
Grant courage I pray and then wish me Godspeed.”
He then said farewell and secured the door’s locks
and turned then to face me and show me the box.
Once down on one knee he extended his hand
and inside the box was a simple gold band.
“It’s true, it’s a ring,” he said, “and it’s my heart,
our hands and our lives entwined, never to part.
I promise to love and be faithful and true.
I can have any man, but I want only you.”
With a whoosh we were whisked through the snow-flurried night.
then St. Patrick’s cathedral around me shone bright.
We stood at the altar in tuxes once more
I turned to look back at the church’s vast floor.
A thousand good friends stood there smiling at us
and a thousand well wishers and those curious,
‘midst key dignitaries, and movie stars too,
reporters with news cameras, each with their crew.
I turned to face forward and there by the choir
was the saintly old man in a bishop’s attire.
He drew nigh and blessed us and said, “Comprehend,
Eventually love conquers all in the end.
So now you are husband, each one now the other’s.
Be a beacon of love to your sisters and brothers.
What God has joined here, let no man put asunder.”
Then the crowd gave a cheer and the bells pealed like thunder.
We bowed to the joyful, exuberant crowd
and when they were quiet I shouted out loud,
as loud as I could to all souls within sight,
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!
P.S. – God bless us, every one.
2009