It’s that time of year again. You know what I’m talking about. All that gushy, lovey-dovey stuff. Cards with hearts on, films with kissing couples and soppy music. Roses appearing mysteriously. Blog posts peppered with the ‘L’ word.
So I may as well join in. Here’s a poem I wrote a while back:
To the man in my bed
If you were a piece of paper
I’d write my name all over you
till there were no spaces left.
If you were a broom
I’d sweep you through my dusty places
If you were a bar of soap
I’d put you in my bath
and wash myself with you.
If you were a ball of string
I’d tie you round me
so tight you’d never be free.
If you were a matchstick
I’d strike you against my palm
till we both ignited.
But I’m quite content
to hog the duvet, tickle your feet,
make you cross then kiss you lots
and write you poems like this one.