If you roam around your place in nothing but an oversized white tuxedo sleep shirt
while holding a crystal goblet full of milk, you are my kind of girl—or everyone’s,
I suppose. I may even skip a ‘decorator’ as an excuse to meet you. Also, I am a writer,
just so you know—well, a poet, but a real one, and fortunately, not having a ribbon
in a typewriter is no longer an issue. Just please do not water my plants with whisky.
And yes, we are friends. We will be, even when one day, long after we find a ring
in a box of Cracker Jack and a name for the cat, instead of Fred, you start calling me
Doc.