Two consenting adults

will meet in public, share a drink and annex
talk with punctuated pointings of their specs
the conversation may be staid or complex
there may even be snarls, snags, barbs, bumps that vex
but between them lies ties and goals: no vortex.
Emotions range, some needing many kleenex.
No matter what the world throws them to perplex
they work at it and it’s good soon or in weeks.
How does marriage of individuals flex
so that they don’t fly off as separate ex?
As specified, they work! There’s no love codex
to multiplex the simplex to high apex.
No snake oil from some slick slimeball guy named Tex.
Nothing majestical or magicky from Rex.
No uniting you with rings by pontifex.
Love is work, believe it. Don’t trust a telex.

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Seven Spins on Giorgione

Giorgione
Abalone’s sweet honey
left him so lonely.

Hey, you’d say, okay
that’s his own fault straightaway
but why leave Taipei?

Bessie left glassy
his eyes for Tallahassee
fancy and sexy.

But that hoy polloi
weren’t nothing like our boy. Oi!
How coy to annoy.

As their time apart
cold sores darted his sad heart.
But callus impart

strength to the length nth
and now G plays a wavelength
of warmth, synth and depth.

So, examiner,
see him now a refiner.
Something diviner.

Perfect

The clock radio
was ruder than usual this morning

that’s saying something

it was some
pop song with
some guy
singing to
some gal

what could be more normal?

But the words
that came along for that uni-directional ride were

about how he might not be her knight
or go see her mother
or bring her flowers
but—
he was willing to be the one that night

ain’t that sweet
and so big of him

The sheer lack of
respect
for her willingness for—
for his own ability to sustain—

a caring and real connection

will instead
lead, possibly, to
perfect sex
that lasts
all of a perfect half hour hook up

but what then?

Romance matured

So.
I eat dinner
at the kitchen table.
Or watching a movie.
Or standing up.

And I enjoy that.
If I think of it
at all.

You can’t eat romance
and flowers are probably poisoned
by some pesticide.
Candles put out CO2.
(But I dabble in all of those from time to time.)

You could say this
phase
of our relationship
is old hat, needs new life, lack a certain pizzazz.
Maybe.

We’ve grown and achieved
accumulated comfort,
relatively,
raised kids.
That’s all in the past
but they’ve marked us
with their stamp.

And we live on
perhaps to create
to learn/relearn
what remains unmarked
and unaccustomed
and unenjoyed.

We do our own
things
help others
make something better
if we can
but enjoy the
company
none-the-less
at the kitchen table
or living room
or standing up.

Just so.

-2011/03/15-

-this is a response to the song “I Eat Dinner (When The Hunger’s Gone)” words and music by Kate McGarrigle which was done so beautifully on the album Heartbeats Accelerating and by (Kate’s son) Rufus Wainwright and Dido. I love listening to this sad song but, usually, the lyrics just don’t apply to me. Romance is only part of a relationship to me.