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.