Cupid shot my love on Valentines Day
Said she struck flesh and heart and sinew.
Alas, she’d imbibed too much cinnamon schnapps
And her aim — it proved untrue.
How do I know her arrow failed
To nail my love in flight?
Next day my husband served Tammy St. John
Some afternoon delight.
At the time I indulged in an unflattering rant,
“Are you serious? Don’t know you’ve been conned?
She’s a wretch, a skank, she compulsively lies.
She’s not even a genuine blonde.”
While it took a while, I’m pleased to report
My heart’s finally on the mend.
And that video montage my PI shot?
Endowed alimony I struggle to spend. 🙂
Trusting men has been the harder part,
But I’ve got me some authentic romancing,
With a zombie met in a country-western bar
Where shuffling passes for dancing.
And yes, it’s true, he is undead
So not everything’s red hearts, pink roses
There are cultural differences we work to overcome
Some difficulties it definitely poses.
For instance, zombie morning breath
On a relationship can be quite a damper!
And much like their human counterparts
Zombie-sock hasn’t met zombie-hamper.
Yet on the whole he treats me well
And, important to my well-being,
He’s not remotely turned on by blondes
Unless, from him, they’re fleeing.
Now I know what you’re thinking: once bitten, twice shy
This guy can’t be all that he claims,
But one thing I know about Brad the Undead
He’s totally turned on by brains.
He kisses my forehead most every day
Calls me Einstein with palpable affection
Why would he pick them over little old me
With his forthright intelligence-predilection?
So the moral of this story if you’re cynical about love
And have cause to distrust Cupid’s arrow?
Consider a zombie. Say “yes please” to gore!
Why keep your horizons so narrow?