The lament of the mistress
Writing poems is fun. It is an esoteric kind of fun, I admit, but that doesn't detract the fun quotient a bit. Reading poems is fun too. I get to argue, and one thing leads to another.
I am not easily provoked; I will have you know. I can't help having opinions and stated them to a neutral listener. But he turned out not to be neutral. He said I nit-pick, fuss and wax pedantic. I suppose I do, but never without reason, so I felt aggrieved.
"You quibble too much, Lali."
"Nothing of the sort," I said, primly. "My points are valid, honey."
"You never wrote metered poems…"
"Scuse me? I did too, I'll have you know."
"Let me finish what I am saying, willya?"
"Yessir. You have the floor, sir, and I am the doormat." He sighed.
"Limericks don't count. You never wrote a sonnet or a whatchamacallit, did you?"
"You can't criticise if you haven't done some work in the same field, after all."
"All right. You have the floor now."
"Is that official? Are you the doormat now?"
He only said that to get my goat, I knew. Of course, one can criticise without expertise; people do it all the time. You don't have to be a cook to say a dish is over-salted. If the lord and master says write a poem before you quibble at one, lady of the house obliges. So I gave him an impromptu tercet.
"You are still here but I miss you, when will we meet next, I fret; to banish the doubts I kiss you."
"Hmm. Tell me more about it. I am languishing unkissed here, by the way." I smiled.
"My cheeks wet as if with dew, small trysts are all I can get; you are still here but I miss you," I improvised. "You are leading up to something, I can see. "
"Stolen kisses and chances so few: you wonder at my cheeks so wet? To banish the doubts I kiss you," I continued. "But you haven't," he complained. I laughed.
"Stolen kisses, eh? The plot thickens," he said. "You bet. Shall I go on?" "You might as well."
"Giddy days when our love was new, madness in recall, hard to forget." I said. "You flatter me Lali," he sighed. "You are still here but I miss you." I concluded the tercet.
"Be that as it may, I can't see how the fourth tercet develops." "The fifth, honey. I can count that high, you know?" "Yeah, rub it in, I lost count. So let's have the next bit."
"There's bliss now, there'll be grief anew; passion owes deceit a debt; to banish the doubts I kiss you," I said.
"Interesting. So the quatrain is more or less set." "That's what you think." I grinned wickedly.
"You aren't mine, I can't have you; sometimes I wish we never met." I stated, and he winced. I finished the quatrain. "You are still here but I miss you; to banish the doubts I kiss you. The lament of the mistress in a villanelle, so there."
"Tell me Lali, are you contemplating an affair?" I burst out laughing.