Alicia asks, “What’s the most romantic thing
He’s ever done for you?”
And I flinch,
Thinking back to last week
When I linked my arm in his,
And begged him to send flowers to my office
This Valentine’s Day.
He asked, “Will it be expensive?”
And I said probably,
But it would make me happy.
After all, I’ve never had an office before.
Our love is not one
Of romantic fantasy and chick-flick clichés,
No sloppy-fingered guitar, voice-cracking compositions,
No fighting in the rain,
No fancy French restaurant wines
Or virginal, white-lace love-making.
We’ve learned to side step
The expectations laid out for us
By unmarried (or unhappily married) daydreamers
Who think they know what love is
Because they saw it on TV.
His face is too honest for surprises,
Let alone secrets and lies,
But he gets my jokes,
Lets me be the man sometimes,
Holds my hand inside his on cold days.
Our love is friendship first, always,
With no room for guesswork,
Because we have what we want
Because we ask for what we want
Because we know what we want.
So thank you in advance, Andrew,
For the beautiful flowers.