It’s Valentine’s Day, so here’s a poem that’s about love! Sort of.


If his kiss is a painkiller,

Then I am on a Benadryl high.

It feels kind of like a fever

Whenever his hand slides up my thigh.

He tastes quite a lot like morphine;

I don’t want his love for me to end.

If my sickness means he’ll stay here,

I’m sure I will never want to mend.

His touch is something like codeine,

And I’m in need of another dose.

No one dare flush him from my veins;

This is pain that you can’t diagnose.

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