maybe in 8 years

it was quite the polite hint
being firmly handed a five-spot
from the woman whose husband
was quietly being built in the back bedroom
out of bits of former lovers
and the bark of teenaged tree carvings
so
with romance tentatively scheduled
I made myself scarce
better off for experiencing
another example of modern amorous abandon

and that's where my story stops
or more succinctly
never gets started
it's best to begin at the beginning
but all bets are off on forward progress
once we've established the distance of
heart to heart

see
somewhere my head hangs
with the weight of waiting
and life is just two little letters away