Might as well be daring, darling, don't you think?
Time's winged chariot et cet et cet,
Not like those old farts keeping tabs on who touches whom,
(When what really matters is how many times),
Give us a kiss then, in fact thousands of them,
And then thousands and thousands more, never stop,
Each one a pebble in the mouths of those who'll despise us,
For today we're introducing the new math,
Our very own calculus of sweet lips and tongues,
Enumerating the innumerable.
Let others count our kisses like counting sheep,
We'll just cook the books until they fall asleep.

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Arthur D. Casciato writes from Seattle, where he once worked as A-Rod's doorman.