the P.Pole

she laughed today in my head.
but in reality, we were dead.
sitting there, motionless.
wounded, hurt and potionless.
i said “how goes the circle which you call life?
would it be alright to make thee my wife?”
she said “why indeed you have proven your worth,
but tell me, are your children for me to birth?”
to that i had no answer, for i knew it was futile.
to think we could love ’til we were senile.
presently i said “see in my eyes the thought that fills me.”
“why, all i see is a clear reflection of me.”
“need i make myself any clearer?
to me, right now, there could be nothing dearer.”