As it draws close to Christmas time, I've begin writing my Christmas poetry. I've written one, so far, a sonnet for my sister in law, and to practice, another sonnet about masturbation. It's pretty great...
Anyway, I've decided the man I marry will read my dirty poems, and comment on my iambic pentameter and help me fix it when I get off. (So to speak).
The man I marry, I don't know his name, or his height, or his age, but I know that he will read aloud to me, poems and stories, and he will be prone to excessive displays of affection, and enjoy cuddling.
The man I marry will read a great deal, and enjoy dry wine, and make me tea just because I never turn tea down.
The man I marry may or may not speak another language, but he will not mind when I watch foreign movies without subtitles.
He will enjoy traveling, and looking at museums, and help me not impulse buy.
He will understand the strange relationship I have with my mother, and simply listen to me complain and neither defend nor vilify her.
I'll probably think of other things later, but for now...
That is the man I will marry.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment