Perhaps it was Mozart’s magic flute— 
Papageno’s net,
the alignment of stars,
the night we met.

On the cusp of a new year, 
friends gathered, played charades, 
kissed at midnight and after.
The host’s brother
home from medical school.

Tall, tender, trim—
quirky smile, bonny blue eyes, soft skin, 
funny and a little drunk.

Into my net there’d been
Burt who danced divinely.
George who courted with yellow roses.
Jerry who drove a convertible.
And Larry who quoted Keats and Browning—
            Let me count the ways...

But this was different,
his touch, voice, silky earlobe. 
Like Papagena my heart sang.

From the the first hello
like an arrow shot straight to a vital part,
I loved him head to toe—
Always in my heart, my tears, my core and more 
here or not.