Lord, I miss your wily antics.
Your willful, sad repose
and indomitable hatred of man -
well, it really ticks me off
pardon my sanskrit
But I remember your smile
the way it spurred the sun to run
across a barren sky
and dawn a new and timeless world
but that was then, long ago
Since, your humor's peregrine-
I'm worried in this drought.
Perhaps something to lift your spirit
a woman...or man? Some chianti?
Your love is like light
it's on and then off again
with a finger's slight persuasion-
My hands ache from the commoving.
Maybe we should just be friends.