I spend the morning cooing,
trying my hand at wooing!
Awaiting a response;
a smile, a nod, just once

in my direction
a glance;
a mere suggestion
that there’s still a chance

that we’ll sometime soon meet;
perhaps take a Safe seat!
Or a long, languid stroll
down an old, grapefull row.

A chance romance can be found
in a tilled garden, on embattled ground!

Concerts?
Four-star desserts?
I’m much more simple.
to start.
I speak
from the heart,
hold hands
in the dark
of the drive-in movie.

I dance with her slowly;
tell her she’s groovy.
Look at her only.

And then,
if she had fun,
I ask her again
on another one,

Where we might get
Cho-o-late
and sit
and talk.

Later on
would come
the passion
and expensive fun,
after all the deep
groundwork is done!

How long does it take?
How long should one wait?
I have no clue!
Neither do you.

But when it’s due,
it will be known by we two.

Silence you send me.
Not the quiet I yearn for:
Pacific Coast more.

Words woo
Women
Better than
Wine do!

I dreamed I was there,
Watching the sun in your hair.
Gasping as you jogged past;
Staring at your buns, fast!/

I’d watch you
pass
through
a bad sculpture garden,/
as both of us sculpt and harden/
various body parts./
It’s a start!

Instead of staying up
and caterwauling
and denying my busting nut
by not late-night calling,

Why don’t you instead
do what you should:
Go to bed!
Sleep is good!

So, go to your soft, king sized, where
warm exists, if only in part,
because he’s already there,
leaving dutch oven tarts.

And you can breathe deep, and drink
to my memory, and in the stink.

smallish auto farts
we beg and ask for riders
stop pollution now