I have no desire to see any male person sans kilt so I will post the poem here. Kate (Kathy, actually) is at work - we are both shift workers and are seeing far too little of each other at the moment - so she may post hers separately although possibly not. She seems a little intimidated by Eratosophere for some reason. Personally I kinda enjoy the trepidatory feeling I get whenever I post something here.
Send as many big, black cars around as you want. I'll leave the porch light on...
So there you are my friend, I thought youíd gone.
Not quite within my grasp unless I stretch,
but reach I must so you may lay upon
my tongue - though all I taste is bitter vetch.
You give me strength to stumble through the day
so passers-by might smile and nod their head,
Well he looks happy, life for himís okay.
My lips can smile, but inside, I am dead.
I see youíve gone now but I can replace
you in a second from my secret store,
and I must hurry, for itís time to chase
my demons to their hiding-place once more.
(Iíll take some of your brother in a flask
to help me to sustain this fragile mask.)