My Queen of Camelot
A bus ticket, a left hook to the jaw.
You were long brown faith in a blue Corolla;
I was 3 day stench and a traveler’s hangover.
The hotel room was our castle
and we were a French couple in Paris
drinking bottles of wine and watching the sun rise –
smoking cigarettes on the 3rd story balcony
overlooking the courtyard, watching people get ready for the day.
We sat there for eternities watching the world go by –
barely clothed and in love –youth of desire –
and now, 4 years later, we’re married
and today is our 1st anniversary, as husband and wife.
I love you, my Queen of Camelot, my Guinevere.