no valentine this year, but there’s a poem

It’s only 7am but Amy is not expecting flowers or cards, there’s no one she is dating who’ll fall for the commercial giddiness of an ancient practice.  By some lunar coincidence it’s also the seventh day of the Chinese new year and tradition demands that we celebrate our humanity today, by feasting on a salad of raw fish and julienned vegetables.

The dates of the past week have been fun but uneventful.  Ewan took Amy to a venue which was quieter than it normally might have been not only because it was mid week, but storm Imogen was on the prowl.  Still, they had quite a few salacious moments in a swimming pool, and then a log cabin furnished with soft cushions on a raised bed.  By the time they left, it was midnight and the following morning they kissed their goodbyes and Ewan left to catch a flight back up to Inverness.

Transgender dating man was sweet and interesting and took her to the cinema for their second date that week.  When he proposed a third the following Monday, Amy had to turn him down as she had made arrangements to meet up with Liam.  It seems unlikely that they would continue to see each other as she had not been inclined to kiss him properly.

There had been a concert date with Jan, but the following day he was driving up north to spend the weekend with NW who was rapidly becoming a regular GF.  So it had been a friendly date where they listened to some music, made dinner together, went to the concert, came back to his for a couple of measures of Highland Park whisky and woke up the next morning for some more conversation, and coffee and fruit.  She eventually left after wishing him a safe journey and good weekend.  Her day was filled with domesticity until the evening when she could unwind with a bowl of sake and some mindless TV drama.

Last night there had been a delightful to and fro between Amy and an Icelandic poet who is in London for the next few days.  Þórinn (or Thorinn) sent her several poems, of his own and a few from those Persian masters of old.  This is a favourite –

Sometimes I wonder, sweetest love, if you
Were a mere dream in a long winter’s night,
A dream of spring-days, and of golden light
Which sheds its rays upon a frozen heart;
A dream of wine that fills the drunken eye.
And so I wonder, sweetest love, if I
Should drink this ruby wine, or rather weep;
Each tear a bezel with your face engraved,
A rosary to memorize your name…
There are so many ways to call you back-
Yes, even if you only were a dream.                  Rumi

And so they arrange to meet up next Tuesday.  Dr Thorinn has the added advantage of being open to the idea of polyamory and declared that he was going to pen a poem, having enjoyed flirting with Amy whilst listening to music from his youth, which evoked memories of his first love.  His last words to her on the dating site had been –

I am fascinated by your profile photo, you have such deeply intensively intelligent eyes. I want to rub my nose with yours and kiss this mouth, then hold this woman and embrace her, feel her heart beat…

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