Okay, I am an officiating priest
of a mosque, a Muslim religious
leader, a chief, yet I too long for
a valentine, to give a valentine,
as I’m romantic in my being and
so I give my heart to you, this
Hallmark Card I found at Marc‘s.
I am so celibate I squeak
(St. Peter hides beneath the fly),
and thus remains vicarious that
horns and whistle tête-à-tête
below the waist. Between
the prayers that Allah knows,
I offer you a passion flame
that flicks much like a
cobra’s tongue, and rises
to the flute loose lipped.
Madame, I as pious holy man,
think I deserve a seed of woo
as hirsute chin demands my itch,
and I in dreams so wetted heave.
Poke not among me like a fork
for I may burst
like surging sand, but eye me
soft with meaty grin before
the sun is off to bed.
Oh Valentine, I come to you
with impulse slam in keen
advance, for I have eyed you
from the apse while Mecca gained
all wailings true. Ah, Madame,
allow me, loose in robes, the
triumphant trilling of the heart.
As late, I felt the breath of mass
and swelled within as you strode
near, and welcomed love, like
manna-white, for sustenance on
which to feed. So, Madame,
from your humble Imam,
receive my Valentine!
Writer’s Cramp Co-Winner