you'd lie on my lap
with nothing much to say
and there i'd bend
to meet your wandering gaze...
the rain, however light,
would feign tears on your face
tears i'd pretend
betrayed a sense of elation--
had they been yours
i would've cried just the same.

surely, i say,
that day's a purple aster
in my garden patch of greys,
a haughty little lamppost
along an awry little highway...

that day was
(and i'd say it again,
without thinking about lifting
the spout tipping my pen)
a lovely day, a ten outta ten