I wish that, philosophically,
I could commune with my dear wife . . .
Instead, we biologically
Against all odds, amidst the strife,
Pursue one therapeutic end
Where pleasures, with relief, descend.

I wish we could discuss the arts—
Talk poetry and invoke the Muse.
In place of that, by fits and starts,
We thrill to what we can’t refuse:
Theory made practice, sweaty, hot…
Conjecture spurned for what we’ve got.