Muse, no matter Where or when I find myself wanting, Without fail I try Sounding out Those most discreet— Yea, coy even, vocables— By counting back- Wards from a hundred, Always coming up against That most singular constant Loneliest one, my old friend.
Peep, It’s at least quadruple your usual Dose of swooning when You see how rosy- Cheeked everything looks In the looking glass when You spy two of you spooning.