Dancing with another man’s wife (with his permission) at the Winneconne Fin & Feather, I promised I would write her a poem about her incredible eyes behind her Sally Smart glasses, her California youth, her dancing moves, her wedge shoes with the tie-ups, .
Instead, after he argued with me that he wasn’t going to write or blog any of his writing (although his wife says he is a good writer), I ended up writing this for him.

I only hope/
the man who claims/
he can’t write/
learns his wife’s brain/
is her main/
eros organ/
and delight./

4 when it’s said and done,/
all a poet needs/
is an audience of 1.

To gain more poetry/
that’s romantic/
you must 1st seek/
to answer the gift/
previously/
sent thee./

Otherwise the poet has no clue/
if you accept being his muse.

Someone to stand on/
the dock and watch the crashing/
storm with would be nice.

It seems a pity 2 waste/
chances placed/
in front of our face./
Like desserts we could taste/
but we choose 2 wait./
About full meals we rumminate,/
and just salivate.

If the Universe/
suddenly knocks at your door,/
learn how to answer!

(OR)
If the Universe/
suddenly knocks at your door,/
learn to say “Yes, please!”

(OR)
If the Universe/
suddenly knocks at your door,/
please welcome him in.

U asked 4 a poem 4u./
1/
that comes/
after a new/
meeting/
and greeting./

Now,/
as I stand/
in the sand/
of the boat slip/
where I oft skinny-dipped,/
I 1der true/
if U do.

I’d walk late with you/
on deep-woods paths, to unveil/
your inspiring depth.”