After The Tiff
My dear, you appear to sport A particle on your lip, (A scrap of ventricle) hung skew-whiff, Which accidentaly caught When little white teeth did rip My heart to shreds. Come, let’s forget the tiff— Beg pardon and relief, Now here’s my handkerchief.
Mandalay, Mustique March 3, 2006
Poem Published in the following books: Island of Dreams