Oh where is my gal with a cherished scent
and a phenomonological bent?

There’s no fear when you’re here,
only your satiny voice
treating me to a treatise on time.

You’re a gifted teacher of experiential sensation,
who reminds me to be, with each inhalation.

You’re as sharp as Wusthop Dreizack ,
pondering what is now, and when time must have a

Whenever you’re around,
synchronicity abounds.

You challenge Plato , Wittgenstein and Merleau-Ponty,
raising questions without answers
that make a mind
work overtime.

No chit-chat, no wasted words,
on an ontological journey,
figuring out what is real, and what is

When you return, bring your photos
of smiling faces with luminous eyes,
a reminder for me to feel alive.

Don’t forget your collection
of fat ladies’ behinds,
which always nails me down
here and now.