Everyone’s peddling something, she complains... And I a bicycle for two, I reply. You’re so short-sighted, she retorts... But I may have missed you were I not, I say. You’re too happy-go-lucky, she quips... But I think I’m lucky-to-be-happy, I grin back. You poets are so unrealistic, she says... On the contrary, love, we breath life into realism. You’ve got your head in the clouds, honey... But I was just looking for you, my angel.