To Vicci, with deepest sympathy and regret.

With hindsight comes clarity,

Of why the blame is on me,

And my dark irregular popularity.

I thought you asked too much of me,

When you demanded that I;

The gregarious unconventional conventionalist,

Stay sane within insanity.

But now through more wrinkled eyes,

With a personality uncivilised,

And declared statistically criminalised,

I see your point.

Many months too late;

To make you my soul mate,

I know I will never see your face again,

That face that inspired such lust for love,

And love of all things new.

Nor shall I sense your euphoric ambience,

That invoked a quintessential need for passion and romance.

This thought could bring a tear to my eye,

If I had a heart that could cry,

A brain that could function,

Further than erections and imperfections,

In my own reflection.