There it is again
My rampant, purple verse
Just because she dropped
A silken, wanton stanza

Like a maiden would
A handkerchief
At a picnic
Or a ball

No no I say
The others are watching still
And her urgent
breathless whisper

No it’s OK, they’re all asleep
Just quietly
But watch the door

And so we madly
Claw the buttons
Reckless
Off each other’s prose

Touching across
The half-lit void
Of six thousand kilobytes

Or as many black miles
of Atlantic waves
Cresting over
The bones of lovers lost

And as we at last
Lay sweating there,
Spent and lost
and found

A lock of her hair
Loosed by our play
Tumbles suddenly down

To touch the curve
Of her smile

Oh my.