The Professionals Circuit Archive - To My Muse, by The Bodie of Avon	  
  To My Muse, by The Bodie of Avon

 

by Shay Sheridan 

 
 *(Inspired by Rimy)*


 My partner's flies must surely hide a gun
 (Or else there golf balls and a sausage lurk.)
 If jeans be tight, why, his are painted on;
 (He knows I stare; he planned it all, the berk.)

 If hairs be wires, then his are tangled coils
 In which, no doubt, he houses hosts of fleas.
 His lips I see most often pursed in scorn,
 (I'd rather have him purse them on his knees.)

 I love to hear him speak, and yet his talk
 Is mostly blither -- Christ, he sounds a prat!
 Whilst other men may lope or strut or walk,
 *He* doesn't walk; he slithers like a cat.

 His imperfections make him worth disdain,
 And yet, I love him. I must be insane!

 -- THE END --

 *July 2005*

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