Terms of Endearment
©1981 Susan Noyes Anderson
Let me call you sweetheart,
I’m in love with you.
Let me call you Snookums,
Toots, and Poopsie too.
Let me call you sweetheart,
I’m in love with you.
Let me call you Snookums,
Toots, and Poopsie too.
If I don’t really have
some terrible
disease
and shouldn’t really be
laying
flat on my back
then
I’m a terminal
hypochondriac
What is this thing that draws me to the sea?
What passion rises with each white-capped swell
to churn upon a watery carousel
and break in frothy secrets, spilling free?
Old house, you held a family in your womb.
You stood upon the soil with warmth and grace,
a sanctuary and a birthing place,
nurturing life and love in every room.
I do not need thee; ‘tis a lie
to paint me weakened by thy charms.
Dost think thy sweeting feign would die
than leave the comfort of thine arms?
I speak to you of love
but words are vain,
like music played so oft
it loses charm.
finding fear full-flavored
nutty, crunchy
they move nothing
rapt consumers
My body is electric when
I’m walking to Vivaldi;
I shed years and pounds in minutes
moving to Rossini’s beat.