An Ode to my Admirer Beau

Hang on, wait a bit, be patient will you?
I know you love reading my poetry, old or new
But before I reach it to you through
I need to read it to my admirer beau


You see, when I am done with a verse a-new
I hesitate to show it to the world without a preview
So I call out to him, my immediate guru
To come sit beside me, conduct a critical review


He does too, often dragging his feet overdrew
Sits where I can see him, signals me to continue
For he knows there’s no other way through
I am, after all, his dearmost sweetheart true


I then read my verse, without further ado
Dipping into it as I would into chocolate fondue
Savouring every syllable like a sweet cashew
Emoting its sensuousness without any subdue


Through this reading my love he sits through
And though with poetry he has little imbue
It is never with a feeling bored and untrue
But intoxicated as if by coffee home brew


And when I finish reading my versified view
He smiles with adoration as if he’s had tiramisu
Says it's too good, (do I also hear him say ‘phew’?)
And gives me a kiss for the rendezvous


Thus it is that all my poetry a-new
This delightfully verbal process it goes through
For, though he offers no contemplative point of view
Sharing it with him is as sweet as honeydew.
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