You're afternoon, my love,
and I'm forenoon,
and the twix between
burrs our saddle.

Eros, on your high steed,
we beseech your Olympian authority
to make mutual our latitudes
so next when the clock strikes twelve
our eyes, yours and mine, my love
shall meet within that same hour,
and there we'll dine upon the other.

Your Siren's line,
"Bring your lips to mine,"
is clear and Clarion
above the tempest sea,
thou danger is both rope and knife
that has me lashed 'n free.

If you brush my words with butter,
and put them on a roasting rack,
or better yet, why not spit them,
and string them on a brassier's stake,
you'll always get a tasty serving of
"I love you" warmly presented upon your plate.

===

* No greeting cards were printed subsequent to the composition of the above lyrics, but the poet is open to negotiating first print rights with one or more eco friendly greeting card publishers.  Product must contain at least 50% post consumer fiber.  Native labor input would be a plus.

Dear Sorrows,
You are the sculptor of my deepest caverns.
My caves and subterranean passages
were hollowed by the drainage of your tears.
Were it not for you
I would be a solid unyielding block.
Sweet, sweet Sorrows,
through your good offices
I am tuned and resonant.

Nothing matters in the end,
but not so in the envelop of time we have,
and there is that karma thing
where the sins of the father
come to roost on the heads of the spawn.
So if inclined to live in an untidy bedroom,
think again.

Firewood, spark, smoke, flames,
an infinite varied dance
mesmerizing thought.

Does love have a purpose?
I can see by the look on your face
that you've never asked yourself this question.
Are we drawn to one another
by benevolence or want?
Is love selfless or self serving?
Are we pawns on a Darwinian game board,
the slaves of genes, or eggs and *****?
And what if you and I knew the answer,
would you still love me, and I you?