nonsense from the past

During the period post first wife and pre second wife I was in a personal kind of hell that generated some really rotten, agonized poetry. After a few months of venting my spleen, however, things got better for me, emotionally, and I started going out with other women and just kind of taking things lighter. Once the poetry got to be a bit less introspective I began to think of myself as a poet. Oh, foolish pride and ambition. The stuff I wrote after I came out of my funk wasn't any better than the stuff I had been writing while in it's depths. It was just different. There are, however, a couple of things that I like, that I wrote back then. I wrote this one for a girl. Naturally. I was in love. In lust, actually. I was then as I am now - a horny bastard (Annie's favorite name for me, once in a while). So Susan R., wherever you are, whatever you've become in the last 32 years or so, this one is (and was) for you.

A Bit of Romantic Nonsense

A stroll through garlands of flowers,
hand in hand for hours and hours,
breathing deep their heady scent,
if I'd my way thusly would be spent,
As much of life as possible with you,
the owner of the other hand. It's true,
such ambitions are rather naive,
but it's to you, my love, that I would cleave,
were I given but half a chance,
to demonstrate to you that romance,
could be such a charming closet in which to hide,
and we could explore the depths of feeling inside,
the heart and soul we each have to give,
and that would be a fantastic way to live,
provided, of course, I could persuade you,
that you should allow nothing to dissuade you,
from realizing what I already know,
that we love each other and it can only grow,
until, as a result of our love's renown -
and in every city, state, and town,
they'll know of our love and sing our praises,
in long and lovely, glowing phrases -
we find ourselves listed,
categorized and listed,
In the Guinness Book of World records.

Like I said, I was feeling good. If I remember rightly, when I wrote the first draft of this, it was on a napkin, in a bar, after several (?) beers. And I was alone. We didn't go out that night. Nor any other nights. She broke up with me before she ever (and therefore, never) saw this. Which is okay - because all of the little failed romances of that year led me to Annie. And that was a GOOD thing.