Our love it something we set on,

Like an egg,

But nothing’s ever hatched from it.

Maybe it’s just a croquet ball,

And nothing ever will.

Or maybe it’s a mango seed

We could have planted long ago,

And by now had something to show for it?

Or maybe it’s a mandrake root,

And eagerly, I cling to it,

Not knowing what to do with it,

But desperately wishing to be alone with you

To see

If something mysterious mandrakey 

Might occur between you and me.

-jenn