Like a Navigator, using maps of old,
I now consult my list for one more story,
Which I bring to you; (If I may be so bold);
As it yields to become Poetic Glory;
Which may skew the facts; - and yet it must be told,
By myself (now somewhat old and hoary);
Now reconstructed from the "mists of time"-
As I settle to the rhythm of my rhyme.

So locked down from Covid, in old Sydney,
I watch the news in intermittent bursts;
Feeling now, I well could lose a kidney;
Or catch the Delta Strain (which could be worse).
Nonetheless, I must write on, and give thee;
A true account of my 'lover's curse';-
And like the night-time rain, which falls relucent;
I write now of my life without inducement.

I drank the years away, let me tell you,
Time vanished in solution down the drain;
And yet I have the wit to now renew,
My memories, and half-forgotten pain;
Therefore, before, this rhyme now goes askew,
I will write down my story bold and plain;-
Concerning of a girl in Quaker's Hill*-
An encounter that was an act of will.

Does anyone remember Lavalife?
The lonely heart's club, using just the phone?
And if you do, you may have met your "wife"**
(Though not for me 'cos I am still alone).
Not that I was looking for such a strife;
But like the "poor stray" I need a loving home;-
I've swum in murky depths - yet they're pellucid;
And no one knows where they may find their cupid.

And yet the introduction service worked;
It worked a charm (as it was meant to do);
For as a lover, none of this I shirked,
Because ev'ry woman's diff'rent - so would you?
And so I put on my very best shirt,
(Having now a destination's rendezvous);
Her name was Anne **- she met me at the station;
Close to paddocks, (as the suburb was then).

The year two thousand and three, (maybe four),
My list is incomplete, and not conclusive;
At any rate 'twas Anne, she opened her car door;
We introduced ourselves, which was conducive,
To further happenstance (and maybe more);
The conversation did not feel intrusive;
And pretty soon we're both at her abode -
(I would have gone there sooner, had I know'd).

Anne and I were sitting tete a tete;
But not for long - soon we're on the sofa;
Another glass of wine to feel replete;
And quite soon after both of us in bed were;
Then making love betwixt the clean white sheets;
During which (and something like a gopher);
I went beneath to taste that furry heaven;
Which beats hands down the taste of bread unleaven!

Thus, the lovemaking, it did continue;
As rolling overhead a thunderstorm;
Pelted raindrops down the bedroom window;-
While lightning forked in phosphorescent form;
It gave me recourse to remain "in venue";
My prospects of leaving were now forlorn;
Now her on top, she tosses her long mane;
And where I was, I wished there to remain.

Her body womanly, her skin quite alabaster;
As I watched the ecstasy upon her face;
And her reasons, I never thought to ask her;
We're happy, private, and not in disgrace.
It transpired that her husband left her;
When he found a younger girl to take her place;-
T'was that (and maybe her diabetes);
The rogue was gone - with no need for entreaties.

As all good things, they must come to an end;
(I was happy, and so was she, in fact);
And of this tale, I do not recommend,
Superficial judgment - I don't retract,
A single word I've said, (or verse I blend);
So, you've had another anecdote, I'm back!
The CS poet, they call lovecanbereal;
Whose verse, and meter have a silky feel.



© lovecanbereal