Valentine's Day Poem

Dear Valentine, I’m so sick of you... I wish.       

I wish my hands were cold but somehow sweaty at the same time. Piss on butterflies, I wish my stomach was inhabited by pterodactyls doing aerial acrobatics that only they can do. I wish I was queasy in that good way, just from thinking about you.

I wish I was so infirm and jacked up, I’d have to be quarantined in an Intensive Care Unit because I see you every time I close my eyes. U.C. I. Find no matter the Institution, no matter the dormitory or cell, I have to bunk with Regret, Remorse, Guilt, and Shame. It’s pretty damned crowded in here. I just want to be alone with my memories of you.

I’ve learned that lust is like the flu. You can get it bad, but eventually you get over it. It changes from host to host, modified to elude your immune system. But once you’ve had that strain, that stain, you’re ready to move on to the next flavor. The new has worn off.

Ah, but real Love is like the Chicken Pox. When you contract a real case of it, you’d better read the fine print, because you’ll wind up so marked up that you can’t hide it from anyone. Connect the dots and it spells Love in great big red letters that covers everything that has anything to do with you. There’s no area in your life that’s immune to this Love.

It’s an itch that when you scratch it, you only want to scratch it more. It’s so much more intense than the flesh, this is about your heart and soul, something D

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                    P in your core. You’ll want to scratch it so much, it’ll leave you too extensively scarred for any imitation.

Now days I’m afraid this real Love, like the Chicken Pox, you can only get once. You can hunt for it the rest of your life without rest, but when you quit scratching, it’s gone. So now all I have to look forward to in my old age is the Shingles.  Dragon scales that overlap each other as they cover my heart. A callous so  unresponsive, that the essence of that Chicken Pox Love is just a faint memory.

Unfortunately the shingles have feelings of their own. Burning pains that linger from the loss of that Love in my system. This reminder of the void shows up at the most inopportune times and ways.

A sight of someone who looks like her.

A sound like something she would have said.

A touch that others share.

And tears that burn like the scalding pot until I want to shout, “Pluck It, Pluck It All”.

Oh how I wish I was so sick of Love and so sick in Love for my one and only. I wish I was jacked up, marked up, scratching like a fool and Loving every minute of it.

If you’re blessed to be in Love, keep on scratching, never stop. Find out all of her favorites and drown her in them. Find out all of her dislikes and shield her from them. Even if you think you already know them all, they can change with time, so just keep scratching, open communication is key.

Bring her flowers because it’s Wednesday, not an Anniversary. Rub her feet every time you’d like your feet rubbed. Not for reciprocation but for a more intense affection infection.

 Here’s a really D

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                           P    scratch, let a back rub be just a back rub. That’s it,Stop Right There.

She’ll tell all her friends and their husbands will hate you for it. It’s an investment worth making because of the compounded symptoms, ailments and interests you’ll gain.

The two of you will be so laid up in Love, that people will be worried that they haven’t seen the two of you out and about. They can’t get you on the phone and when they do, you don’t have much to say to them.

“Sorry, not trying to be rude, but we were in the middle of something”

When they get enough nerve to check on you, they’ll find you both so infected and afflicted with mutual affection, the doctors could work for hours and still wouldn't be able to get the smiles off your faces.

So how do you know when you’re scratching effectively? When all of her friends turn Green and they’re Sick and Tired of hearing about what you did for her Today. There’s no yesterday in good scratching.

So who’s the fool who said, “It’s better to catch the Chicken Pox Love when you’re young and get over it, than never to have scratched at all”?

Some fool who’ll never crow again.