Music: John Dowland, “Tarleton’s Resurrection.”
Come share my life, please share my bed —
do something fanciful instead;
it’s said that life’s not poetry —
is solitude security?
I’ve extra space and a queen bed —
who wants to be alone instead?
I like my job, though the pay’s low —
come split rent on this studio.
This neighborhood has lots of trees —
I’ll get another set of keys;
who wants to be alone these days? —
consider I cook shrimp entreés.
I’m at the age where life alone
seems worse than risking the unknown;
what if our outlays could subside —
we might share things we’ve been denied.
Come share my bed, there’s room for two —
come share my life, there’s space for you;
come see the place, it wouldn’t hurt —
it’s time to be an extrovert;
the floors are wood, the ceiling’s high —
Historic Downtown is nearby;
I’m good at back rubs, I don’t drink —
it’s cool if you say what you think.
Let’s not get hung up on your weight —
the AC we’ll negotiate;
I’m looking for my final mate
or split the rent, at any rate;
companionship, once in a while —
let’s both of us give it a trial.
So, Mary Shelley, if you’re there,
I’ve got a studio to share;
a universe, just made for two —
a bedroom where I will love you.