@ 27.105 MHz: Friday Night, October 20th, 1978; A Sonnet Without Rhyme Or Measure

Between our gasps of pleasure, you told me

(I remember, I have never forgotten), "In the

"hurry to disrobe, I almost never get to my socks."

North Hall's weekend night noises---always ubiquitous---

seemed to subside as you said that (as if the

hangovers and date-rapists' exhaustions had

already commenced their usual onset).  I did not

know, then, if you said what you wanted me to

hear; or if you were uncannily aware (you were

always unusually astute to observe and remark) of

my rising inclination to that variation of beauty.  And

when I complimented the pink and gray pattern of

your socks, you replied with that most incomperable line:

"I think mine are particularly fine."



Author's Notes/Comments: 

This actually happened, in room 220 of North Hall, a Friday evening, on our first date.  My companion of that evening, to whom I was introduced in the library (where I, a nerd, and hitherto bereft of weekend dates, often sought solace from the great poets' poems), suggested a return to my dorm room; and, once we had crossed the campus and arrived there, suggested love.  Although this continued almost to dawn, it would not have been construed as a violation of the residence halls' visitation policy---for which I offer a wry wink.

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