Epithalamium for the Commitment-Phobic

You’re quasi-loco and I’m just nuts.

You’re a brainless tin man. I’m a lion with no guts.

I’m a sweetie pie. You’re upper crust.

You’re rust-o-leum. I’m just rust.

You are très beau. I’m “Je ne sais quoi.”

I’m no chopped liver, but you’re Foie Gras.

You’re Hayden’s The Creation. I’m a Brahms’ lullaby.

You’re the king of stoic. I’m the queen of cry.

You’re Spaghetti Roma. I’m a sugar coma.

You’re grounded while I’m flying high.

You’re Sean Combs. I’m Norah Jones.

You’re Puffy and I don’t know why.

You’re the mighty Mississippi. I am Lewis and Clark.

You’re deep and wide, every boater’s pride. I’m a canoe in the dark.

So let’s say we do, two as one for all for all time. Or maybe just for today?

A dinner for two?  A quick rendezvous? Leave now and I’ll meet you halfway.