Daily Archives: February 16, 2013

Image: © Starlaim 164908

Love Letter from Calif.:

My Love,

Listen, I, uh, I, well, I’m not one with a flair for dramatics.
And, well, I, I’m not exactly gifted in spoken-word acrobatics.
And sometimes my silences and mental distance betray me as enigmatic.

Forgive me, woman, my heart’s not capable of insincere tactics.
But what I feel can be summed up with fairly simple mathematics.

Valentine’s Day is but once a year. And the two of us are tailor made for the occasion.

Why?

I’ve been heart- and mind-writing about love and attraction and romance for the majority of my adult life. Few, if any, have noticed–let alone read.

Except you.

You couldn’t put me down, refused to ‘write’ me off as some one-poem, some single-romancework wonder.

You’re in love with me, though you’ve never voiced it. It’s OK, Cupid heard your whispers in the dark. And put a little something in my ear, put a little extra ink in my pen, a little more energy and elan in my fingers at the keys.

A little more romance in my heart.

I’ve been writing about romantic serendipity and mystery and epiphany like a madman. A MADMAN!

I’m either foolish (but wasn’t it Steve Jobs who said, “Stay foolish”?) or I’m the Michael Jordan of Romance. Yeah, I’d write (play) for free . . . for love of the art (game).

Remember when he cried helplessly while clutching the trophy after winning his first ring? The world watched Air Jordan cry.

I, too, cried–silently, tearlessly. I understood, not so much his struggle (no one will ever know that but he), but that life struggle, that love struggle for something one wants so god-awful bad, something greater than himself . . . that blood, sweat, and tears are left on the court and on the page and even on the keys.

You kept reading. And encouraging. And wanting it for me because, unlike most other women, there lives in you a spirituality, a life-giving force of nature, a selfless generosity that says somehow,
“If he wins, we all win; life becomes just a little bit better for his efforts.”

Yeah, like MJ, I’d cry . . . I’d shed exclusive tears for my trophy.

My trophy?

Your “yes.”

This is my ask, woman.

Will you . . . by all means, will you . . . with everything within me, will you . . . ?

Eternally yours,
Rg2

***

Romance lives.

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

The Valentine Suite, Calif.–10:29 p.m., Post-ValDay PHF:

She slaps his face furiously with her right hand and, a second later, callously smacks him with her left, as he looks on, throttled. Dazed.

“You’re coming up subpar!” she explodes. “Play your position with passion . . . or don’t play at all!” she unloads fiercely.

“Mami, don’t hit me no more,” he pleads, suddenly getting her point. And he gets his erotic mojo back instantaneously.

“To hell with Valentine sentimentality . . . and to hell with pampering. I wanna be bruised tonight!” she commands.

Lights out.

Fade to black.

***

Meet the woman’s demands. Or else . . . . -Rg2

Woman on fire!

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®