Ode to Her

Circuitously long relationship! –
forty-nine years warm –
full of internecine intrigue:
started with her bold seductive sinuosity
which flowed relentlessly from her tight burnished

body through my awkward nascent puberty:
her lushness came and coursed in pumping
rhythm with the best of me: affording privacies
known only to the two of us, withheld within
our secret on-and-off dark constancy.

I’ve always been the harbor of her hopes:
she’s nothing if I don’t resort
to opening her door to coax her out into my arms
once more. She’s the harbor
of the most unnerving deepest strangest widest

confluence of fluid human substance
I can bring to anything:
when certain serendipitous conditions coalesce,
we join our forces once again –
caress and sing –

not to brag, but beautifully. But she will lag
behind if I approach her dutifully: she needs
to know I am in love. Today I think I am.
And so I take her once again in hand –
and sigh, begin. My violin.

.