She asked me to write her a love poem.

It wasn’t a verbal request,

Or a gesture for more attention.

It wasn’t even one of those moments,

You know, when the writer is caught

In the act of an unfinished piece

And exposed to a passing eye

Naked even-

As if walking into a room half-awake

And realizing-  “It’s a bit drafty in here.”

Realizing too late

To conceal or even be embarrassed

So you just go with it

And poor a glass of orange juice

Smile. Lift the glass with a nod

And return to the womb.

No it was nothing like that.

In fact, she doesn’t even know me,

But she definitely asked me

To write her this love poem.

The request was written

In the trailing of her fingers

Across a marble wall

Anchoring the accents

Of the background she honored.

Flaming king’s spears stood guard,

As pink dragon-flowers twisted their necks

Around purple nightshades.

My eyes were drawn to the way her head leaned

Like a lily of the valley, adorned in an all white

Summer dress that danced in the breeze

And folded over her figure with each turn

She tossed her hair back and cocked her head

Toward the cell-phone raised to her ear.

And I wondered-

If her boyfriend knew about her request.

I’m sure he wouldn’t be pleased

To know the way her pacing was placing

The meter in this poem, a bit broken

At times, but obviously she had to be subtle

With her man buzzing in her ear as she

Considered the ramifications of her request.

But I caught the undertones

In the way her eyes blinked

Between glances my way,

As if to look past me

Instead of simply asking me

To write her this love poem

So I played along

And pretended

The menu over my shoulder

Was just coincidence,

And I took note at the way she leaned

Like a lily of the valley

As if to note the day’s special

Written just a little low on the wall

And the lilting motion she made

To rock back into the sandal

That had begun to slip from her toes

Like the smile that slipped past hair-tones

Mimicking the colors of the eyes

On a monarch butterfly’s wings

With the dark-orange accents, sifting into view

Catching peek-a-boo like glimpses of the sunlight

Was just another way to code the secret between us,

Like signaling Morse code with a pocket mirror.

And when she settled the phone back in her purse,

I knew her reason for pulling out her lip gloss

And pausing, as if to remove a strand of her hair

Was simply to catch my attention and draw my mind

To the association of letters sealed with a kiss.

And so, I put pen to paper at her request

But when I finished, she was greeting

Some sweet William with a Star

of Bethlehem etched on his shirt.

And though, it accented her dress nicely,

I must say he embodied the reason for scorn

And smacked of an idle mind,

Which left no doubt in mine

Why she’d requested this love poem.

And I swore, as she took his arm

She tossed her hair just to blow me a kiss

And with this, I set off to close her love poem,

And I realized-

I never even got her name,

Much less an address.

And as I looked past the flowers that

Had backgrounded this entire series of events,

I swore I heard them snickering,

As if I’d missed something all together ironic

Or possibly obvious as to how she came to be

In front of me, the dragon-flowers smiled,

But I noticed no saddle upon their stems

To indicate that she had flown in

From some fantastical paradise,

And the nightshade seemed distant enough

So as not to have caused her forward request,

But even still, the king’s spears quaked with laughter,

And I found it fitting that I should find a wild rose petal

Settled between the pages of this poem-

A love poem, requested by my lily of the valley.

And so I stand on stages reciting it

Hoping to find the return of my happiness;

No more guarded by regret,

Twisted in the dread of reason,

Or intoxicated by night’s shade.

No I stand, alone to find the one

Who has departed from scorn and idleness-

The one for whom this poem was written-

The one who has requested that I perform

Another love poem

without a name.