When my next lover comes around,
I’d prefer he be profound––
intellectual and mysterious,
also ponderous and serious.
Insight and depth I’m sure will be
the things that he looks for in me.
We’ll have no need for Cupid’s dart,
as passion steps aside for smart.
On our first night, we’ll pop a bottle,
arguing over Aristotle,
debating proton, neutron, quark
and entanglement in the dark.
I’ll reel off famous quotes by heart
from Shakespeare, Camus and Descartes––
whisper “sweet somethings” in his ear,
knowing what he’ll want to hear.
He’ll analyze our chemistry
and then discuss the Odyssey,
Plato, Aristotle, Kant––
any subject that I want.
If we don’t get around to kissing,
we’ll barely notice that it’s missing.
Who needs an interlude romantic
when they can have one that’s pedantic?
For the literal-minded among us, must add that I’m kidding! If it comes to a vote between Aristotle and the kissing, I’ll take the kiss every time. (Within reason.)