The One Who Makes You Happy

There is no single sensation called ‘Love’. This is the cupid-conquering carrot that fellow-blogger KFC defiantly dangled before me this morning. My fair feeling is he’s ringing right in many muddled ways, for love lavishes dissimilar favours on its smitten saints. But his maxim’s miles away from engraved-in-stone. I awoke with ‘weally wunnerful’ happiness today! And when I think of who I was thinking of, I know that the one you truly love is the one who makes you happy.

My Husband is Here 5

All At Once

She takes to gathering evidence
Of marital offence
The remnants of protected sex
Condoms enough to vex

She goes to confront him at work
To make him a public jerk
But as she scolds him openly
Two people zoom in slowly

The secretary her husband shags
His best friend "who always brags"
The same 'friend' with whom she cheats
And this the tale completes!

My Husband is Here 4

Closet Doubts

Three days and nights sail slowly by
They do not even try
The smoke and clouds swirl all about
There're closets full of doubt

He thinks she'll break and confess all
But she continues to stall
Will he explain the sudden limp -
Why he walks like a chimp?

My Husband is Here 3

The Return

He creeps back up into the bed
Nothing at all is said
He might as well be with a wall
She does not move at all

She feels him move behind her back
She's eager to attack
But she does not feel faultless tonight
She has just lost the right

My Husband is Here 2

Dread

He picks his crocked waist off the floor
And crawls towards the door
One thousand questions maul his mind
What excuse can he find?

Back in the room upstairs she wakes
But, still asleep, she fakes
She needs some time to understand
Th'embarrassment at hand.

My Husband is Here 1

The Jump

A man sleeps with his own dear wife
It is the peaceful life
Then, in a horrible nightmare
She screams, "my husband's here"

He shoots up in a mouse panic
And darts, his clothes, to pick
And then he vaults through the window
He hits the ground below

Kiddo Convo

I have kept the candid company of Tender Age, Youth and Twilight Years. I have heard each category’s care-less chatter. It’s dropped my jaw since juvenile to jack into all this jol talk that does not seem to mature. We always talk a jugful about other people’s business. Even when we juggle the more solemn subjects, what we say and how we say it does not ‘sophisticate’ with age.