Romancing Robert Browning

Who thought I would find
my own Robert Browning
writing and reviewing poetry?
Together, we were two pie-eyed love poets
whose words wooed.

Welling emotion, he wrote of dreamy kisses,
I shared poems of Miami nights.
In time, his heart was mine.

We ran his lucky dog
down the Carolina shore.
I counted the waves
and the ways
as they crashed Johnny Mercer's pier.
We stood as two wordless word-smiths
feeling the sea's salty spray.

We dined at the Oceanic;
shared crab cakes and risotto,
watched the stormy nighttime sky
and precious time pass.

He was my Robert Browning
And I, his Sherry, though only for a while.
For us, time was counted,
taking my poet far, far away.

I stand alone, beside the Atlantic
counting the waves.