‘Not romantic’ly’/
was what she said, hopefully,/
crushing my query.

I asked someone if she minded if I texted her late at night, and if she got them, what she thought. She said (in a poem), that they made her smile and she enjoyed them. This is the result.

Sleep on then,/
U wonderous beauty,/
and I’ll view it again/
as a priviledge, not a duty,/
to help U 2 smile/
for a while,/
as U drift off deep/
back 2 sleep.

When pork tastes/
ick,/
it goes to waste/
and makes me sick.

Do /
you?/
And if you/
do,/
what do/
you /
do?

Late night. Bad pork ribs./
Shoulda danced with the one whut/
brung me at Pecos.

What if, based on a/
recent Facebook posting, I’m/
Everyone sought for?

How oft have I asked /
her in hours wee, if ever/
she wakes thinking me.

Maybe I could be/
your captured knave./
I think of/
you and me and cave./

Pull sheets up over/
your head.
Cave is
sheets in bed./

Lovin’/
Dutch oven.

I’m sorry if my hovering bothers U.
I try not 2 think about U.
I know U R superbusy, as am I,
but I miss talking 2U,
seeing U.
I want to ask U
out w/no pressure.

He writes in the woods/
to find peace, inspiration./
Then jackhammers start.

Or

Then hard raindrops fall.