A memory is Valentine <br />of chocolates and ageless wine. <br />I married a pathologist <br />but every time we hugged and kissed <br />her lips did taste like iodine. <br /> <br />I met her at the microscope <br />a student nerd I was, a dope. <br />Her bosom rested on the bench <br />the scent was definitely French, <br />exuding earth and fragile hope. <br /> <br />I baited her, a Bogart line, <br />she caught the lure, which was a sign <br />In Central Park, on frozen dew <br />lips flushed and cyanotic blue. <br />That's when I tasted iodine. <br /> <br />Worldwide we have deficiency <br />which robs us of efficiency. <br />A halogen named Iodine <br />the cause of imminent decline. <br />I tell, it is my mission, see?<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/late-valentine-she-complained/
