v.d.

the hallmark in my hand says it all...

my love for you is a poorly written cliche metaphor
on primarily post-consumer-recycled paper
but i mean every last bit of it

i love you.

i am your monkey...monkey around, around, around w/ me.

8 years together
you'd think i could do better than 200 kisses & a crappy card...

kisses lead to tooth decay...
    cards lead to landfill longevity...

i do love you.

i love the life we've established together
on the foundation of our separate facades of existence

i love the way that when i'm with you
a TV show doesen't remind me that it is time to eat

i love the way you yell at me when you're happy
& kiss me when you're upset

i love the way you put on makeup for me
eventhough i prefer the natural beauty of your face

i love the way we fight more
so we can make up, make up, make up

(yes, 3 times my lady)

V.D. - Febfourteenth

i am diseased with my love for you...
it is slowly taking over my body.
my brain was the first to go,
but now even my arms are reaching for you on their own.
i speak to you when you aren't even here,
i kiss you only to find out it was merely your pillow.
this disease is crippling my independence.
i am reverting into a child with a terrible edipal complex.
you are my mother.
not my birth mother,
that would be nasty on too many levels,
you are the mother of my desire of blacklights;
the mother of my appreciation for sweet-tasting lip gloss;
the mother of my victimized masturbation
& the mother of our child.

i love you...
more than sean connery playing james bond.

                                                (paste that in yr hallmark.)