Saturday, 13 February 2016

V day whateva

You cripple my fingers
The minute I pick up my pen
Determined that today, today
I will fuckin write that
Worthy of you

Your voice, your presence, your irrationality.
You're a fuckin artist.

The art that is your voice
A cure for finer ailments.
The art that is your presence
A cellar for my finest wines.
The art that is your irrationality
A spanking that I crave unawares.

You're a fuckin artist with your beautiful brain and excitable tongue and the days you fuckin said you hated me but adored me and I said I hated you but fuckin adored you. 

No eloquence will do, all those
Timeless pretentious verses
Those songs we were taught to believe in
Those fuckin declarations
Of undying love with fuckin
Dying flowers - yeah, none of that will do.

Only a terrible poem
Positively ghastly poem
I will offer You
Just a gesture to say
I fuckin love you.