this was way to good to not post…

THIS IS AN ENTRY TO A WASHINGTON POST COMPETITION ASKING FOR A TWO-LINE RHYME WITH THE MOST ROMANTIC FIRST LINE, BUT THE LEAST ROMANTIC SECOND LINE:

My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife:
Marrying you screwed up my life.

I see your face when I am dreaming.
That’s why I always wake up screaming.

Kind, intelligent, loving and hot;
This describes everything you are not.

Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss,
But I only slept with you ’cause I was pissed.

I thought that I could love no other –
that is until I met your brother.

Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead, the sugar bowl’s empty and so is your head.

I want to feel your sweet embrace;
But don’t take that paper bag off your face.

I love your smile, your face, and your eyes –
Damn, I’m good at telling lies!

My love, you take my breath away.
What have you stepped in to smell this way?

My feelings for you no words can tell,
Except for maybe “Go to hell.”

What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts vodka, one part lime

I know it’s not very nice….but god it’s funny. 

This next one, I cannot resist…

 

If You Forget Me

I want you to know one thing.  You know how this is:  if I look  at the crystal moon, at the red branch  of the slow autumn at my window,  if I touch  near the fire  the impalpable ash  or the wrinkled body of the log,  everything carries me to you,  as if everything that exists,  aromas, light, metals,  were little boats  that sail  toward those isles of yours that wait for me.  Well, now,  if little by little you stop loving me  I shall stop loving you little by little.  If suddenly  you forget me  do not look for me,  for I shall already have forgotten you.  If you think it long and mad,  the wind of banners  that passes through my life,  and you decide  to leave me at the shore  of the heart where I have roots,  remember  that on that day,  at that hour,  I shall lift my arms  and my roots will set off  to seek another land.  But  if each day,  each hour,  you feel that you are destined for me  with implacable sweetness,  if each day a flower  climbs up to your lips to seek me,  ah my love, ah my own,  in me all that fire is repeated,  in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,  my love feeds on your love, beloved,  and as long as you live it will be in your arms  without leaving mine.  Pablo Neruda