LOVE

Love instructed me
to cultivate my rose garden
hours before the promenade guest
arrives at our prom
with her nosegay of flowers,
to write her love letters
of pardon and grace
with a dot com,
to construct a scheherazade float
decorated under a canope
for her of twigs and leaves
from a precious magic tree
and pour out my sentiments
in an avant garde note
and to finally face
the music finality
from this a pruner of romance
with a fine tuner
in a tenor sax
then relax in the corner
on a back bench baroque sofa
with dignity
to take my chance at parcheesi.