Now that Ces has identified my poetry as soothing and inspiring, and now that it appears Isabella has been swallowed whole by a snake, there's no time like the present to post the poetic sequel to "I Love You More!" You might remember this was a love poem written by the Adorer to the Adoree. Love is like that: I for one like to be adored but I love it even more when I adore back.
Ah, but most of us know that love can follow a thin line: witness the ravages of betrayal, for example.So in my ever-reaching effort for balance, I now offer "I Love You More! Or Less".
My dear friend suggested I provide the following information: I wrote this in the Big Yellow writing group with instructions to 'let it out, push the envelope, don't be afraid of dark emotions, be raw" etc.
This however is still a love poem. It's just alittle, well, non-traditional. However, for some, it may be "R" or "X" rated. That's all the warning I'm providing.
I LOVE YOU MORE. OR LESS.
I’m cutting you in twenty three pieces
Starting with each finger and incrementally moving on
To bigger pieces from there,
Until I get to your head,
Which I will handle with sufficient respect
But don’t count on much more
Because then I’m stuffing it all in the freezer
And you’re going to stay there all winter
Until the ground is soft enough
For me to trek through the local forest
And sneak behind the fig tree,
Where I will throw each despicable limb
And torso part into the man-made lake
Where they will surface to your unthinkable embarrassment.
When it’s clear that there are no serious suspects besides myself
I may confess before I’m charged,
And if I do I’m going to tell the world, even your mother,
That you deserved every hack and chisel,
Even though I was gentle about it
And even though you caused a bloodcurdling mess
All over my kitchen,
Which carried into the dining room carpet and eventually
To the living room pillows
Because I was too exhausted to properly clean up
Before I took a break to watch Wheel of Fortune.
I may even provide details that you called me a little shit
When I came at you but I will keep to myself that you
Smiled in utter amazement when I swung the 3 gallon pot
In your direction.
If you think I will languish and repent in prison,
Think again because I will limit my cognitive musings
To only the night at the drive in when all four windows fogged
So thickly we doodled on them afterwards for almost an hour,
And then of course the time you stood me up and later told me
You took your sister to the emergency room but that was so far
From the truth I still fume when I think I waited up for you and
Reheated the spinach quiche three times before you called
With that preposterous lie that the electricity in the ER had shut down
And you were ambulancing to the next town hoping for the best.
I will rehash these two events over and over for forty years if I have to
Except you will be out of my mind totally during all three meals
And any outside activity time I might get for good behavior,
Which by the way I won’t even try for if all it means is shooting basketballs
Because I suck at that and then my arms are sore for days afterwards.
It’s possible I may trace the shape of your face on my pillowcase
If I get really bored
But I will leave out the crease just above your left eye
And I will definitely exaggerate the size of your ears
Just because I know it will rile you
And believe me I’ll be looking for ways to rile you every waking hour,
I might even draw pictures of your most insecure body parts and send them to your nieces and nephews with a little note saying you will miss them at Christmas.
No. on second thought I won’t do that because that is going too far and why involve innocent children
Who have enough problems without having to look at your naked ass?
If you wonder if there will be moments when I think of you fondly or
Recall the tender night the tent fell on us when the rain got too heavy,
Or the time you slipped just when you released the bowling bowl and your pants
Split so wide we were laughing too hard to care about all the people who came rushing to you as you lie on the alley, legs so far apart you made the letter V look
Like a W,
You can forget that because there is nothing you can do
To make up for all the grief your lying cheating impossible behavior caused
my innocent heart which only wanted the best for you
as demonstrated by the time I saved for three months to buy you that handmade velvet Elvis for over your couch, even though it didn’t look like Elvis you know damn well I made the effort,
especially since I followed up with a velvet Bee Gees just two weeks later.
What? you say? Is there anything you can do that will spare you the indignity, not to mention the finality, of being chopped up like hamburger and frozen without any effort to match your parts to any semblance of your whole?
Now this is one fine time to be asking this significant question. Just as the cleaver starts its projectory toward your ruffled parted head of hair, you have the nerve to be considerate?
And that sheepish smile—you are shameless, you little shit yourself, your knowledge of boundaries and limits is pathetic.
Well. Maybe. But it will cost you big-time. It will cost you so much you might be better off letting the local paper report that on Thursday your right arm was found floating in the lake, followed by your ear on Friday morning and your sorry head on Friday afternoon.
Well, let me think about that. Ok, I’ll wait 8 hours. But that’s all. Ok, Chinese take-out sounds fine. But don’t think I’m kidding. You could still be chopped meat. Really. So there.
The moral of this story is three-fold:
1. Keep your head in the heat of the moment
2. In almost all cases, it's better to use Honey than Vinegar.
3. Love to hate to love again can turn on a dime.