HE SAYS:
I'll show you the earthworks; can*ls, roads, mounds.
A decomposed city; no gold paradise,
yet nature can't rub it's imprints from the ground.
Welcome to my El Dorado Edelweiss.
Look how this ditch curves - I traced it a mile.
A moat maybe? - site of a stockade wall?
I admit I lured you here with barefaced guile
but can you see why this place holds me in thrall?
So, was it the appeal for help which drew you
or a bad poem with obvious flaws?
No matter, because what else can we conclude
but that love sent the bottle to your shore?
We walk side by side and your hand warmly ties
with mine, so why do you still avoid my eyes?
SHE SAYS:
Taking into account ocean currents
and 1900 global population,
the chance of mine and the bottle's convergence
were maybe better than one in a billion.
Tall odds granted, but not beyond reason
and you Lucretius, know I know you know that.
I was drawn by neither appeal nor poem.
You wrote on a whim and I came for a chat.
But your eyes can find a city consumed
by forest and they find too much in me.
I thought maybe with age I'd become immune....
Talk to me about archaeology.
They're like fish hooks, your eyes. They can't be prised
without pain. That's why I avoid your eyes.