Julia smirks - see? - from behind lovely
phoned roses in ivory, lemon and mauve,
untouched by a busy boyfriend.

My love has crowned me in ragweed
carefully picked and woven. How I
think of him with each sniffle and sneeze!

This artless opus of allergic connection
overwhelms me in different ways. I'm
a co-conspirator in quirk, becoming
a lover of art over sentiment. He knows
the adventure of sweet oddities,
he knows it with me,
he knows it with me.

The roses, no roses, their fragrance
overwhelms in a different way.
My reactions are strong as his offer
to have me sneeze my love for him.
I submit, and later I laugh.
And later we laugh.
He knows it with me,
no roses.

Jennifer flaps her versy cards
with perfect rhymes. Sentiments chosen
by her dull fianc�? Or his assistant
who just loved the serenity of beauty
in the love and peace of a cherub's wings...
Jennifer knows she will e'er clasp
this golden moment
close to her heart.

He will not show his poems, my love,
to any but me. His blood a seal,
mad watermark; his words - lovely blood.
For me, for me - he writes
his poems for me, smiling
and bleeding.

My love trusts me with poems squeezed
from his subconscious, wrapped
ensanguined, for me, for me.

No roses, laughing, for me, for me.