Heaven Can Wait

Rollicking lilting:
an unseen young woman’s
 chortle haunts my ears.
Angelic chuckling softens my heart.
Occasionally, in a swooning despair,
 I lean out the window
 to blindly seek her face, the fount,
 only to be splashed 
 with a fresh outpouring of cherubic mirth.
Assured, languid, bright, content —
 all I’ve wanted to experience in a woman.
Intermittent eternal trumpet of joy —
tittering with gusto —
driving me up to heaven.