Mid-February, 3 years in

I have never been one for choosing a dreary day in the middle of a dreary month as the most important moment of the year to express my love. I would prefer to dedicate a day in early June or late May, or possibly in September, if a day had to be picked. But best of all, why pick a day at all? Every day is a good day for love. Still it was cute to watch befuddled men wandering around downtown today, armed against the event with bunches of roses and balloons.

Boy and I are cleaning the apartment in preparation for an onslaught of friends, converging on our town for the famous Fetish Flea. Tyr and Maya will be here, with two friends of theirs whom Boy and I can't remember if we've met, as well as our old friend Dragon, the fantastic Gem, her habit Hobbit, and of course The Irishman. We have decided that we are not averse to picking up a few more strays along the way, and tomorrow night promises to be on the far side of epic.

In the midst of all that, who has time to stop for chocolate and roses? Certainly not Boy and I. The darling bought me a celebratory bottle of Prosecco, and I did nothing for him ... except clean. And in cleaning, find, and read aloud, all sorts of love notes and poems and adoring bric-a-brac from the past six months and the years before. The best bit of which I shall post here, in testamant to the amazing man I love and live with, and the awesome thing we have.

Everyone Should Be So Lucky

I hate that you always
take more food than you can eat
and I hate when you leave
dishes so I can't use the sink
I hate it when you're
cranky and I don't understand

I worry sometimes that you
love me just because
you've been saying it
so long
I think that I'm a habit
and wonder if it's a good one


But then


you look at me when I am
shirtless or smiling or
making us food

and your eyes are so intent
and you radiate some emotion
uncountable of good

and I forget the food and
the dishes and the blank
joyless moments

and I love all of you
from socks to split ends,
from back fuzz to belly
fuzz to beard and beyond

and I know, of course,
obviously, that you love me
completely -- it's right in
that look

I love even the parts
that I hate




End Poem. Love happy.