19.2.08

Belated Valentines

Conor, I wrote you this love poem:


Your skin glows like the guava, blossoms resplendant as the geranium in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your sitar voice and leaps like a panther at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great finch wing.
I am comforted by your earmuffs that I carry into the twilight of blossombeams and hold next to my ear lobe.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of ink.
As my elbow falls from my long johns, it reminds me of your french horn.
In the quiet, I listen for the last rustling of the day.
My heated knuckle leaps to my cape.
I wait in the moonlight for your secret statue so that we may wrap as one, knuckle to knuckle, in search of the magnificient crimson and mystical dictionary of love.
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Seriously, now people. I got it from here: Love poem generator Post your poems in the comments!

5 rubber neckers:

Ann said...

Your skin glows like the kiwi, blossoms shimmery as the tulip in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your banjo voice and leaps like a tiger at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great chickadee wing.
I am comforted by your sock that I carry into the twilight of chairbeams and hold next to my leg.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of water.
As my toe falls from my shirt, it reminds me of your log.
In the quiet, I listen for the last bang of the day.
My heated face leaps to my pants. I wait in the moonlight for your secret radio so that we may swim as one, face to face, in search of the magnificient blue and mystical couch of love.

Blogging Mama said...

Your skin glows like the Kiwi, blossoms glorious as the daisy in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your guitar voice and leaps like a hyena at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great canary wing.
I am comforted by your socks that I carry into the twilight of platebeams and hold next to my toe.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of Vitamin Water.
As my arm pit falls from my shirt, it reminds me of your chair.
In the quiet, I listen for the last whistle of the day.
My heated cheek bone leaps to my skirt. I wait in the moonlight for your secret folder so that we may laughing as one, cheek bone to cheek bone, in search of the magnificient puce and mystical hook of love.

I see Ann and I both picked Kiwi. :)

Blogging Mama said...

Oh my gosh socks too.

electric boogaloo said...

Nice poetry ladies. I like:

that ann is "reminded of your log"

I am a little concerned about amy's arpit falling from her shirt.


As my elbow falls from my long johns, it reminds me of your french horn.

I am TOTALLY calling it a "french horn" from now on.

Ann said...

I am cracking up, too funny!!!

 

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