valentine 3

On Valentine’s Day, I find myself thinking about couples who have been married for fifty, sixty, even seventy years; folks who have lived through every conceivable hardship and somehow managed to make things work.  When I ask what their secret is, most say they “just knew” their spouse was “the one” the moment they met.  These amazingly spot-on judgments would have occurred decades before dating websites and compatibility surveys became the norm.  In today’s world, we vet out potential candidates online and dismiss anyone who doesn’t meet our criteria or possess a large overlap of common interests.  Despite all the electronic fuss, computerized matches often lack the “spark” necessary to kindle a romance or fail to reveal some fatal flaw.  Like this vivacious vixen, who is almost everything a guy could want:


Her gaze melts my heart,
those deep butterscotch eyes!
Just one look and I’m hers;
we go back to my place.

Content to ride shotgun,
she leans out the window,
her honey hair rippling,
carefree, in the breeze.

She’s eager to please
and jumps into my bed.
Her kisses mean business;
her body warms mine.

The stuff of dreams, she
loves camping and fishing,
and Monday night football,
while sharing a beer.

But her steadfast devotion
surpasses impassioned;
the possessive bitch growls
at my human girlfriends.

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