No seatbelt! Maybe/
her ample brastrap will catch/
her on the way out.

I’ll flirt text U/
2 keep U awake/
and keep yer driving true/
and without mistake./
But no matter/
how kindly U felt,/
all my text chatter/
won’t buckle yer seat belt.

For a brief moment,/
as his poetry bounced back,/
he dreamed she’d answered.

Will she/
ever join me/
and take a chance/
and willingly dance/
with tender romance/
and ans/
wer the moonlight poetry?/
Or will she /
simply/
let/
the poet/
be?

At 4:30 her/
poetry awakens me/
from lonely slumber.

OR

At 4:30 her/
poetry awakens me/
from slumber. Why me?

At three a.m. WHY/
does the insane train still blow/
its lonesome whistle?

If she/
could b/
by me,/
we/
could sigh,/
and I’d/
caress her,/
not 2 distress her,/
but in the dark,/
access her heart,/
hold her close,/
and c/
how me/
and a rose/
could b.

As a friend remembered the birth of her son 17 years before, I wrote this:

A more noble deed/
was never done by half the/
world’s population.

When yer heart is poured,/
and it seems absurd/
2 b able 2 say/
yer deepest emotions/
any other way./

When just 1/
look or glance/
leaves u undone/
and in a trance.