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Love is a Rose by Mayfair

Side by side in bed...
You read the newspaper
and I read my new poetry book,
"What Narcissism Means To Me."

You read to me from
an advice column,
and I read poems
with an ocassional "oh"
or an escaped giggle.

On a particularly "noisy" poem,
you put your newspaper down,
said, "Go ahead. Read it to me.
Neither one of us will
get any rest until you do."

I read each line with emphasis,
feeling the profundity of the words,
pausing at appropriate places
for dramatization.
I finished, waiting for your awe,
and you said, "So, when
does it get good?"

You ducked as I threw the book,
and you pinned me down
to tickle me...
When we caught our breath,
you remarked, "All writers
should move to Arkansas.
It's a pretty boring state.
You could surely make
something interesting happen there."

I laid back on my pillow
with a dreamy smile.
"All the writers in one state.
That would be sbsolute heaven."
You were only kidding, but I...
I was dreaming of Nirvana.

Lori Beal