The story of affection is told in two volumes
One of the calmness and balance of reason
The other of rabid and base emotion
One taking year upon year to cure
The other infinite and ever pure
 
Some say having both is but an agreeable dream
But I say no, for I have seen it so
And it is all of the wonder and glory one would suspect
Each possessing both volumes, passion and respect
 
And if it exists, it shall be my quest
To search for these volumes and take no rest
Until I have found that which I seek
And of true love I too can speak!

Wail 'n' whine of the saxman's blues
The syncopated sizzle of the drum kit
Trinkle, ****** of fingers fervent
The jigsaw jazz of a cubist portrait

My heart is a patchwork
Of geometric scraps
Sectioned off one by one
Quilted for protection

Three rounded ***** of fallen snow
With mismatched celluloid buttons
Sprigs of pine for makeshift ears
A nose from the carrot patch
Burlap scarf to keep him warm
He's really quite a catch!

Walked out of kindergarten
Straight into retirement
No detours along the way
Life will seem this way one day

Ashen fencepost in the sun
Barbed wire slowly rusting
Scrub grass straining for the sky
The milk cows ever mournful