My California girlfriend loved to dance,
gyrate, and grind. But I was young, and dense;
I didn’t catch on. I would shout, “The din’s
too loud in this club crowd!” Now, too late, it dawns
just what she wanted. I was such a dunce.
I preferred the beach—the surf, the sand.
And even there her salty kiss would send
my breath away. Somehow, I never sinned
with her—I never got it—though the sound
of her low moans engulfed me as we sunned.
She dumped me. So I’m left here with these “didn’ts,”
trying to reclaim her in this sonnet.