How not to romance your lovah

Much off-blog activity the last few days, so I’m delaying Stages of Broadway, pt. 3 until Tuesday. Yes, I know you’re crushed.

But just to keep the laughs rolling ... what a friend’s email claimed “are entries to a Washington Post competition asking for a rhyme with the most romantic first line but the least romantic second line”:

Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss
But I slept with you because I was pissed.

I thought that I could love no other
Until, that is, I met your brother.

Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead, the sugar bowl’s empty, and so is your head.

Kind, intelligent, loving, and hot.
This describes everything you’re not.

I want to feel your sweet embrace
But don’t take that bag from off your face.

I love your smile, your face, your eyes.
Damn, I’m good at telling lies!

My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife,
Marrying you screwed up my life.

I see your face when I am dreaming.
That’s why I always wake up screaming.

My love, you take my breath away.
What have you stepped in to smell this way?

What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts vodka, one part lime.

Happy Valentine’s Day, dahlings!