Although I know you’ve allergies
That medicines may fail to rout,
I find it hard to feel at ease.

You must inhale each dusty breeze,
Each pollen grain come rain or drought:
When we make love you always sneeze.

Am I an allergen that sees
Your system as a place to clout?
I find it hard to feel at ease.

Your passion often sounds a wheeze--
Asthmatic sigh from coital shout:
When we make love you always sneeze.

While all your nasal rhapsodies
Give vent to proof your heart’s devout,
I find it hard to feel at ease:
When we make love you always sneeze.

Originally published in Potpourri, Winter/Spring 1988