Thee Mister Re: Spouse...

In summer re: aye cannot whet till

this husbandry season will become

fallow - mare riddle status no longer

honeymoon bridal stage covenant,

nuttin boot lame game of worm aye

go win round robin, since empty nest

syndrome grounded, nee pulverized

papa's purposefulness eschewing

attending, babying, pampering...

dependent wife, she relies on yours truly

for emotional, financial, grammatical

succor unwittingly spearheading self

driven sequestration deep within invisible

hermetically sealed catacombs resigning

remaining decades as recluse getting

linkedin with anchoress named Miss Ann

Thrope, a humble herbalist sustaining

ourselves foraging ample edible native

plants prepared within subterranean hearth

bubbling cauldron issuing delectable aromas

aural accompaniment evoke structures of

silence, neither me nor t'other cohabitant

violating unspoken transgressions nomad

dear ain't no authoritarian entity dispensing,

donning, trumpeting commands, nonetheless

each of us experiences far greater safety,

versus bajillion manned armed force on outlook

for good n plenti interlopers, how heavenly

this rudimentary Shangri la devoid of madding

crowds, no cumbersome technological trappings

daylight natural firelight to scratch out musings

pure unbridled satisfaction emanating reading

and listening in turn as envisioned, imagined,

and lionized hushed murmurs signaling

enjoyment (mimicked courtesy aural exhalation)

as Gaia appeased wafting warm breeze

across each our respective brows, this hermit

ensconced within his kingdom aware figment of

his fancy crafted idyllic refuge empowered by

meditation evoking compatible soul mate merely

generated by auto suggestion illusory

manifestation a lifelike dream.