Would a lark
take on a lover
that does not sing,
or a poet,
a lover not befriended by a muse?
And if so,
when their sweat
has turned to steam,
and there be nothing left,
save separated bone,
what then,
the duet that could have been,
of other lover's
syncopated harmonies,
forever lost
If one were not to find another that knows how to caress that pen.

would i be the first
if i were to incorporeally script
an antithology
starting with two white on white end papers
and filling their in between
with N-minus-one
intrinsic diswholeness (imagine symbol for shrugged shoulders here)

Would that I were the first
to use the phrase "private dancer."
In my thoughts you are arabesque,
a gracefully spinning shadow projected upon my naked walls,
your slender arms and hands, and fingers extended tall
en pointe in the center of my cupped palms
and in my heart, in unison, we are pas de deux.

Would that life could be this simple,
that a poet could dip his pen,
write a poem that paid his mortgage princ'ple.

Would you favor me?
Lounge in the chaise by the window
that tapers light inward,
so when you lie back,
without your clothing,
your face, shoulders, arms, nippled *******, belly, and *****
are bathed in natural and trailing light
defining your exquisite form
while shadowing your manifold into eternal mystery.

Had Chaucher written of you,
prescient to have told
your Canterbury tale,
"When in April ..."
So long ago,
but you
just a few decades underway  ...
The Quarry man's daughter,
what mid trail story
would he have chalked
on his writer's slate?

I'm writing to report
that you were recently captured
within one of my randomly cast
thought nets.

The person that invented the zippered fly
probably doesn't use one,
for any guy will tell you why
especially if he's mis-zipped Wun!

You are a stolen moment,
a lost afternoon;
a well spent decade?
Perhaps a last memory,
inhaled into one's last breath.

You are my night shaman,
you lead me deep
into primal chambers
where life's mysteries are manifold.

You are my secret love
would that it be other,
thus no mailed Valentine
to add to the clutter.

You gave the maid the night off.
You called to say the way was clear.
Your chamber was in adoration light
with tall taper candles, each one lit.
You told me clothing was not optional,
Each of us helped the other to our god given gifts.
You looked up at me and I down at you
What happened next is between me and you.

Your walk was pure poetry,
you my teacher,
I your student.
"Parlez vous francais?"
"Non"
You were a total rousse, I presumed.
You'll never know how much I wanted to learn.

The till
of majestic mountains
trail to the sea,
as my thoughts of you
break off and tumble
through time
that merges the sacred
and inexorable forces
that will collectivize creation
back to a Time sub zero
Inverse
of unimaginable demensionless pointedness.

The young contend
With broken hearts.
The old must cope
With rusting parts.

The young feel time
Barely moving.
The old feel time
In bones disapproving.

The young stop
In front of mirrors.
The old move back
To make things clearer.

The young focus
On acquisitions.
The old release
Past ambitions.

The young, if lucky,
Transition elders.
The old will then
Be Elysian selders.


* selder:  From Middle High German, selder 'dweller in a hut or peasant's cottage.

You raised the bar, Darlin'
on wholesale love.

You're such a pretty cat, me Darlin'
but you **** doves!

You're such a pretty cat, Darlin'
but you **** doves!

You raised the bar, Darlin'
on wholesale love.

I'm just a pretty boy, my Darlin'
here to implore your love.

I'm just a pretty boy, my Darlin'
but you **** doves,
or was that rabbits?
====

* No animals were harmed in the writing of these lyrics, but regrettably, a few injuries did occur at a subsequent recording session.

Your basket of words
were in the bulrushes.
I'm holding them,
still moist from your pen.

You're in this scene,
a couple sit opposite each other,
in a restaurant,
at a window table.
On the street,
I walk by and see myself with you,
and I'm caught off guard by the reflection.
We are amiably chatting,
laughing, smiling.
You are radiant
and I, more handsome than I remembered.

You're wearing a long black skirt
with a split side vent
from which flows a shapely leg.
Let me compare thee,
take your pick,
the Nile, the Seine, the venerable Ganges!

Your forty winks
was an evening of my despair,
barely a word from you.
I'll send you tooth picks,
one for each eyelid,
only because I care ;-)

This is a quick note
informing you that I
have enrolled
in "your geography 101."
I look forward to exploring
you from sea to shining sea,
your fruited plains,
your mountain tops,
your golden fields of sunlit grain,
your divided highways, causeways,
and often spread a luscious lunch upon the apron of your back roads.
For extra credit
I plan a thesis on your deltas,
spelunk your caves for glistening jewels,
swim your lachrimal lakes,
and pray that you keep me after school.

Your lapped iPad is the perfect palimpsest,
for an intimate exchange,
with one of your stylist fingers
your lover's words become ostrich heads
whenever your husband
sallies forth for another can.

Your night is the day's embryo,
You wake,
You're  a parent to a new day.
You have responsibilities!
No time to do a zombie walk 'til noon.
Time for two, three, lines of finity;
It will jack y0u high on impermanence.
Certainty has never insured tomorrow.
This day is your last banquet?
Fill your plate, but not full.
Do not dine alone.
Say grace, for you are the Pope of the hour,
Your awareness is a sacrament
That blesses everything you see and touch.
Soon your day will die in a ****** cloud
Leaving you with both less and a little more.

Your ******* were humming bird eggs,
vulnerable beyond compare.

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.

Zero Butkus:
  0 × n = 0
  n / 0 = 0
  0 / 0 not defined
  0 + 0 = 0
But
   (1 + 1)^ 0 = 1

Valentine thank you
for your exponential hugs
making us one.