Waldo nodded and waved goodbye pathetically, like a young father going off to war. tAs soon as the door was closed and he was gone, Jeanne squelched her own apprehensions, opened the paper and read the poem Waldo had written for her:One taste of Jeanne and out I flewWildly, madly, in no directionBut hers, and yet so straight and trueI fly towards her with no protectionIt feels so strange to move this wayThough I should land, desire it seemsMoves in strange circles and so I stayDisoriented beyond my wildest dreams.
