Rapture Poem by Warren Augustus de Guzman

Amber rays of gold flood the room
Engulfing the atmosphere thick with sweat
Sweat from tireless sweeping with a broom
Consequence from a reckless bet

Along with the broom came a mop stick
To polish the marble floor upstairs
An orange shammy completes the hat trick
For the debt you incurred square and fair

And for what endeavor did you risk all this
For manual labor is not your best friend
You might wish to say before it is missed
Engulfed by this poem’s monotone trend

A simple task someone had to perform
One that took all night to haggle and negotiate
A peck, a sweet kiss on your lips so worn
From whispering “our love is willed by fate”