my lover speaks of boston
and i ask which one – the card game,
the dance or the place. are you lost on
semantics and struggling to give a face to the name?
catfish me anytime. i’m already in love. gift me a balaustine,
red and rose-like but not as sweet. shakespeare lied – it’s not the same.
we can play solo whist, dance a variation of the waltz. that’s all boston
isn’t it? serenade me, master soloist of words, i won’t blame
you for trying. you intrigue me, reading jane austen
novels on my front porch, dizzy with aspartame
don’t save me. this is the path i’m lost on
you sing to me. the cards i’ve been dealt with i blame
no-one for. my lover speaks of boston.
on the telephone and i know which one to claim
the dance. love, let’s dance the boston.