She said, and smiled,
I envy your wife.
I grinned ruefully.
She had a picture
In her head
That I was Cyrano
Rhapsodizing Deb
Improvising
Beautiful images
Hallmark would admire
She thought we’d spend nights
Sipping champagne
By the fire
And I’d be reading
Her my poetry
And she’d fall
In love with me
Over and over again
And I guess
We’d get up
In the morning
On Valentines
And make snow angels
In the yard
It’s not a bad fantasy
But compared to our lives
It’s madness
And Deb would roll her eyes
She knows she’s my Muse
And she’s in every line
But I don’t serenade her
With sonnets
Or speak in couplet rhyme
But I do write her poems
Every day of our lives.