I enter a candlelit room.
All the women I've ever dated
are passing around the love poems
I gave them, and guess what?
It's the same poem. My sweet
[put your name here], if I was God
I'd make flowers smell like the back
of your neck, trees with trunks
as soft as your thighs. When we kiss
I feel like a cheerleader being
crushed to death by a giant pom-pom.
Jeffrey McDaniel
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