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Personal Note:
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Poem
In the life that's to come after this,
here's something I don't wanna miss:
in the eternal hereafter,
I don't want to be without your laughter,
or without your morning or goodnight kiss.
Oh, just let her!
Don't do anything to upset her,
if, as you say, you love her, and all.

Let her make her girly noise,
with her retinue of giggly boys,
who make her feel like the belle of the ball.

The lavender perfume on your quilted vest
might smell even better if you were to get undressed.
And the musk on my well trimmed beard,
is naturally engineered
to have you do all that I request.
I said to Jo,
"Just let it go.
You can't hold on
to a past that's gone."
She said, "Oh? ~ Is that so?"

By the river, we babble on,
while our parents sleep from midnight till dawn.
That's what you do at camp when you're young and in love
and have only the stars above
keeping track of what's going on.
Entering the park to meet my blind date, Charlotte,
I was awestruck by a beauty dressed from head to toe in scarlet.
And my opening line, as she sat on a wooden bench
was "My ~ you look so incredibly French."
At which she gushed, "I do?
I can understand it a bit ~ but I don't really parle it."

Whenever the Count left town,
the Countess was amenable to messing around.
Quite often, she and the Baron
had a wonderful time sharin’
the counting of opening the buttons of her evening gown ~ down.
The sister whom she missed the most
was the sister who went to live with the mister from the Ivory Coast.
So, when the Ivory Coast mister took that sister
back to visit the sister who exceedingly missed her,
the missed sister was kissed by the sister who missed her
all over, almost.

If I wrote you a billet-doux
would you write me one too?
And when exchanged, we could test
who people thought expressed their love the best.
You hope it's me ~ I hope it is you.
I answer my phone
for one caller alone,
and you, dear caller, ain't she.
At the beep, have your say,
and if I like it, you may
get a timely call back from me.

Whenever I see that the x-ray of your heart,
it takes no art to spot the bits I tore apart.
It’s easy to tell which ones are mine ~
they’re the ones with a callously ripped edge line.
Whenever I see that x-ray of your heart, 
it tears me apart.
Of my poem, she said it was "cute,"
probably because she totally misunderstood.
She couldn't fathom the very deep meaning
with which my short, pithy poem was teeming,
from the very first syllable to the very last foot.

I've never been the best looking,
I've never been the smartest.
But of all the men she's known,
she swears, I was the hardest.
When I daily see geese flying south,
I ask myself what I'm still doing in this house
where the temperature's freezing,
and I walk around sneezing,
and the cat no longer plays with the mouse.
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