When Spontaneous Love Poems Go Bad

by Robin Archbold

MY LOVE is like a rose
A red rose
Not a yellow one like in that 1963 Bobby Darin song
Eighteen Yellow Roses Came Today
Because that's what you send when you drop someone
Or if you get sent some then you know that you’re dropped
So my love is not like all roses
It sort of has a culturally specific metaphorical application . . .

My love is like a garden hose
 . . . channelling liquid emotion from the tap of your heart
To the sprinkler of my  . . . er  . . .
Spraying pheromonal droplets of  . . . fertiliser
Onto the foliage of my  . . . lettuces  . . .
And . . . artichokes  . . .
They have hearts  . . .
Um  . . . it's sort of a heart analogy . . .
Thingy . . .

My love is like a parson’s nose
. . . that . . . er . . . euphemistically named plump little tailbone morsel
On the nether region of a roast chicken
Savoury, succulent, slightly illicit
Because of its proximity to the sphincter
With its connotations of bestiality and anal sex . . .

(Fuck!)

Do you mind if I start again?

A bit of rap, maybe?

Here we go . . .

My love is like a runaway train
Disappearing into your love tunnel . . .
A . . . runnel . . .
Gliding down a mountainside
After gentle summer rain
The lilting refrain of birdsong
Coming on so gentle or strong
Like a balmy afternoon
Or a tsunami afternoon
Depending on our mood
My love is like food, glorious food
A mellifluous golden stream of honey
A mellifluous golden stream of money
 . . . oozing out of a slot machine
 . . . oozing out of a  . . . ruptured spleen
 . . . or  . . . a gaping wound  . . .
Two hearts marooned on a desert isle
A smile of impossible kindness
And the blindness that love can be
Gums up the eyelids of you and me
So that neither of us can see
That our love is blind
Because  . . . we're  . . . blind . . .

 . . . can I stop now?

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