My dear,
A little matter I've failed to mention,
I'm the deposed Ruritratinate of Ruritania.
A sad story, really,
My uncle deposed me for the declaring the empire a poetic state.
I was taken to the boarder,
made to swim one of the glacial rivers isolating my country.
I live an ex-patriot's life,
each morning writing a poem,
and sending it to my loyal subjects attached to the next wind.

We'll meet in Montreal,
As cosmopolitan a city as New York or Paris.
Let's make it the end of May.
Plan on bring your worst behavior,
I'll be bring mine.

You were an heiress,
inheriting a life time trust fund
from a fortune made
manufacturing waxy kid's coloring thingamajigs.
Your mother drove you each school day,
in a classic powder blue Mercedes coup.
She was beautifully coiffed,
high bred serene, great skin,
And you were blond, blue eyed, smart and smiled.
When I saw you I always felt -
I felt not worthy of living on your planet.
A few years after graduation we met,
I had had a few beers so I told you everything.
I am sorry for causing you those tears.

To speak all these languages:
Assamese, Bengali, Bodo,
Chhattisgarhi, Dogri , Garo -

Oh, to be able to tongue, "Love"
in Gajarati, Hini, Kannada, Kashmiri,
Khasi,  Kokborok, Konkani -

Or lip, "Desire" in
Maithili,  Malayalam,  Manipuri,  Marathi,  Mizo,  Nepali -

Or whisper, "Good night, Dear"
in Oriya, Punjabi,  Sanskrit,
Santali,  Sindhi, Telugu, Tamil, or Urdu.

Have you noticed the old pagan gods
are in fashion this year?
It's like that hemline thing,
a rising economy
raises all skirts.

When I make
hot 'n sour soup,
I like to add
a little ground ****
as a finishing spice.

I heard one ole boy,
back in the hills,
chopped a Chrysler Aspen
And married it to a 60's Rambler,
He worshiped that hack,
called it his Asp Ram