How long the wait?

How long the wait? And when the day? For a figurative heart to play: No teasing or excusing Romance can be plain abusing. By its presence or its absence It can leave a sometimes-drab sense Of the life in which you live Poured through the hole and cracks Of every mental sieve. If she were dead, you’d walk unto The Four Corners of the Earth To see her only once again. While she’s alive, you wouldn’t walk Four Corners of the Room To give her the time of day. Elusive and exclusive Is this happy club of seals In pleasure, every measure sounds Of joy, and each day dawns In happy, blissful bounds. But misery loves company too, This chap in inked-up slacks Could use a moment not-so-blue And quite despite appearances Is capable to woo But fears, and says “What does it matter how I look? Whom do I impress? I do not wish a family This soon in life, I guess. I will not look so actively Besides, I’m still a mess, It can’t be so important now, So why all this duress?” So dream again And do not win. Mark Burton Saturday, April 16, 2005, 10:30 P.M.