A Confession

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.