...I spose you musta appreciated that.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXIII)


You sign out "Joey," and say Thursday.  Frail
Pink like those bars thet Wordsworth noted thence
Stretch 'cross fatigued blue skies as for good sense
I tap to Russian strains; and we drive.  Pale
Heavns wear grey twilight, greens in that detail
Dark, shaggy trees with vast lawns, fields in dense
Green, row on row forever, and what hence
Twill be like in the car with YOU t'avail?
I wonder, itching for the chance, in poor
'Scuse for how slow you're being.  O me!  how you
Write "I don't do this often--" swears as twere
That caution's in the air, though you kiss to
Effect my hand these days.  Firewerks 'non stir,
Ah yes, they do.  And you're a dream come true.

03Jul17d