you know, when you suggest lunch,
i yell, "yipppeee!"
and then, when i proffer the idea,
you say, "we'll see."

is that jagged smile of sorow,
yours alone, or borrowed?
counting the Minutes we differ
we can watch the Years wimper.

forlorn; languishing is our goodness
left to wither from its fulness
to a limp and listless state of our life,
me just a husband, you just a wife.



gone: courtship, wooing, piano-bench kissing;
replaced by ennui, malaise and hissing.
if this is life, and without a chance of parole,
throttle me, cease it now, hasta luego!

yet, and still

where could the problem be?
surely not with you?
mayhaps, could it be with me?

mmm, we'll see.

03/04/2005