A letter to my old love, Clarice...

Baby, I love you, but...

I know your are a sassy hot headed gal that grew up in a bad section of town and that you can mouth off now and again, I love when you yell and your nose is all squished up. Baby, I love you. You don't take disrespect and I stand in adoration of your firecracker mentality. Never doubt how much I cherish moments to defend your honor. You are my life, my world, the sun revolves around you baby, and I delight in your presence. You are my God. I worship you and your pussy is my Garden of Eden. Your clitoris my forbidden fruit, I love to savor that fruit. I want to be the vegetarian of your vagina. I would carve your name into my arm with a pencil to show you my love, my love.

I am in adulation of you even when a girl at the bar bumped into you spilling red bull and vodka on your Steve Madden pumps. I know you wanted the entire bar to hear you explain how this tart had ruined your lovely shoes and your feet. I love your feet they are so delicate and soft like an orphan's skull, I lust for them even splashed with a energy boosting beverage. And even as her large male companion asked you to calm down and you didn't, I knew that fire in your eyes is what attracted me to you. He needed to know his woman was not of fine standing. Just because he was an ultimate fighting champion doesn't mean he shouldn't know. I am sure the wine you splashed in his face proved your point, oh how you relish wine, but not as much as I relish you. So what if he called you a slut, he doesn't know you only had sixteen other partners last year, one being a woman. I love that you are so exclusive and all mine. I love how you always prove your point, you never give up, your tenacity is only second to my madness for you.

He lifts me off the ground with a well placed punch to my sternum, my body is yours to rapture as he ruptures my liver, I love you. The hip replacement actually helps me make love to you more tenderly, God I want to fuck you. You telling him he is in big trouble as my facial bones crush into my eyes isn't helping, but means I yearn for you no less. The body cast he puts me in only proves to make me want you more. A paper mache barrier that can't hold back my deepest emotions, of love. It was right of you to take him out to dinner so he could apologize. I know you were probably deep in discussion of our affection at three in the morning when I tried to get ahold of you. It's nice that he still calls and comes over late when I am not there, but know I wish I was there my buttercup.

Or the time at a movies when some rather joyous colored persons were making some poignant observations about a woman going into a room they obviously knew was a bad idea. You always consider others, so selfless that's why you shushed them. I know you and other patrons needed to hear the movie, but I could follow it. My eardrums are honed with the powers of love, love for you. As they descended the staircase and you said I didn't appreciate their loud mouths, I thought of kissing yours. Her beautifully airbrushed nails, like tiny portraits, that put severe gashes on my cheeks and sent you to go retrieve a manager made me want to paint a picture of you nude. You look so good naked. He was a teenager and not ready for what he saw, my eye dangling by a thin string of optical nerve. It's OK baby, you had the best intentions. I was given two eyes for a reason, to give one up for my passion for you. Thanks for getting the junior mints while you were out there pumpkin. I love you more than depth perception. You always did like chocolates.

There is thirty-five stitches in my head, but there wouldn't be enough thread to stitch up my broken heart if you were not with me, I love you. Baby, losing my testicles to that woman's high heel is fine with me because I know you didn't want kids anyway. You are the boss and I am devoted to you, baby. That woman had no right to take that parking spot anyway and her viewpoint on abortion plastered all over her car in bumper-stickers did need pointing out it was wrong. Funny how those types carry guns, the bullets in my abdomen are a testament to everlasting love. A love that lingers on like when you are the last to leave a cocktail party. Baby my love is like a cockroach after the apocalypse it will never die. I love you sweetness, but for the sake of my last kidney please stop getting my ass beat.

Your loving boyfriend,
Buckinald Stevens III, Esq