OR: IF DOROTHY PARKER HAD WRITTEN FOR HALLMARK
Logic of the bio kind,
A pheromonal torrent,
First summoned our surrender
To nature’s wanton warrant.
Deeper, deeper, deeper, down
We fell into our thrall.
But love? I love you now as then…
Hardly, if at all.
‘Til we met last Decem
I was lonely alone,
Ginned in discrete desolation.
Since you left this A.M.,
I am only alone.
…Begin indiscreet celebration!
So alike, Muse and Mistress,
For I often find,
Both turn to artful pleasure: distress
When I’m so entwined.
For platitude: no latitude;
My penchant is for trenchant.
So, gratuitous with gratitude,
I’ll say, at least you’re sentient.
Wandering Mined 