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Love in Times of Trial
We can make it if we just hang on
Love in Times of Trial
I want to hover over you, dear Asha, hang your picture in the gallery of my affection.
There’s no exemption from the responsibility that I have for you, so I’ll make you toast and coffee, try to clear my conscience from a set of horny dreams.
There’s no hardship we can’t overcome, although I feel like an imposter a lot of the time.
I wonder how much of the population feels the same, yet they find a way to make dinner with grace, move through the days until their ultimate retirement.
My thesis is one of wonder; I’ve made many an observation that I try to write down, lest I retreat into an unreachable place like the eagle who hides for fear of man.
I want to nominate you to get up, speak into the microphone and say what and whom you love.
This thread I hang onto, much like your bosom (which I must concede is heavy and full) is sturdy enough to support my weight.
And for love of you, I try to always cross in the crosswalk and be the most practical of men.
I chalk you down in my win column, say there’s no one finer than you, and to be honest it gives me pride.
