Frangipani

Where are you, my lovely Frangipani?

I’ve made a few inquiries, not too many,

and done some asking ‘round, but still no clue.

My darling Frangipani, where are you.

 

There was a time my lonely heart went ‘boom’.

My introductory glimpse of you was fleeting.

I saw you from across the conference room

at a development proposal meeting.

Two things I can’t forget were both your eyes.

Each of them possessed a sparkling tone.

Juicy, vital, clear. Bereft of stys.

Flashing amber like a Pente stone.

 

Wherever have you gone, my Frangipani?

Your resemblance to Marie Dubois is uncanny.

Little one, I’m searching with the dawn.

Looking for the place where you’ve done gone.

 

The stars. There in the sky. When we first met.

With Pleiades seen clearly, by the way.

No interstellar mission has been set.

The closest star’s just one parsec away.

The speed of light can’t be described as slow.

The ties of space and matter question begs.

And, Frangipan, my love, didn’t you know,

dung beetles earn repute just for the eggs.

And that’s entirely one way of many.

No lack of spots where insects make their nests.

There are many options, Frangipani,

but living at this latitude is best.

 

For weeks I didn’t know my ass from what.

Remembering your hair your eyes your face.

Then, from the grapevine, I heard scuttlebutt.

You might be going to an Arctic base.

 

The memory of our dinner is ingrained.

As arranged, we met at Burger King.

Right off the bat, I kept you entertained,

assembling a french fry tableau thing.

Could it be said we had our first spat when

there was some question where the bathrooms were?

I exchanged my promo action figure then

expounded on the Noble Hamburger.

 

Being most persistent in my search.

Always told that no one ever sees ya.

I received the final info with a lurch.

You’d gone to find yourself in Micronesia.

 

I’ve lost you, Frangipani, to an island in the sea.

A fleeting glimpse mid-eon, a love not meant to be.

The memories, I’ll cherish, for all eternity.

I’m yours and ever pining, Frangipani, where are ye?