My love does not yet know that I love her,
yet I can’t find a way to break the news.
I’ll write a letter; Dear (insert name here),
but first I must choose the diction to use.
I could amaze her with euphuisms;
I want to be besotted by your grog
and erupt like volcanic orgasms,
or; You’re the arid air to clear my fog.
She is my auroraborialice,
slipping into my form fitting glass shoe,
so I’ll offer her a boring palace
and my dismembered ear; shriveled and blue.
She’s the spark to thaw my freezer burnt heart,
but for fine art I’ll rely on Hallmark.
