I’ll spare you nonsense about the color of roses
And that tripe about violets the poet composes.
As long as you lounge with your bottle of wine,
I’ll tell you a poem that evokes the sublime.
Nothing short of angels for one so refined
who fights, spits, and swears whenever she’s inclined,
And just now you’ve finished that whole bottle of wine!
My love is sober, but you dear, are my inebriated valentine.
So think of this less as a poem about love.
It’s more an accolade for freedom unheard of.
You’ve drunk all your wine and learned so completely,
how to wrest from my heart these words so sweetly:
Your eyes glisten from all the glitter and spice
that your friends say make you look so nice.
And your lips glow with a pale, muted red
To hide all the swear words you’ve said…
If a thief sneaks onto your property
I can’t save you; you’re more violent than me.
You’ll bite him and kick him then knee his groin,
and gladly return to finish reading my poem.
Such elegance. Such grace.
Such humility is beyond commonplace.
You’re a lady of the times (and I’m either sarcastic or blind)
A true cosmopolitan; my inebriated valentine.
And if anyone doubts your skill with a drink
You’ll pull out a pint glass and hop to your feet.
“Cheers” we’ll all cry, as you go shot for shot
With any man around. You’ll drink till he drops.
But at the end of the day, when all drinks are gone,
and what’s left of your thoughts turn towards home,
Never fail to think fondly of me
Your one true love, at least — I hope that’s me (one can never tell.)