I was going to write you an epic poem.
A soliloquy of vibrant, passionate, verbiage.
It was going to woo you off your feet.
Make you float like a falling feather in a light breeze...
indeterminately hovering in the golden light.

I was going to present my epoch to you with gilded wings and valiant trumpeting ostriches, on satin rugs in a grand hall.
Amidst a gathering of your closest friends.
I was going to lay bare my love for you like a plucked flower, opening to greet the sun before it's last gasp. Naked. Unafraid.

But then I remembered...
That for the next 42 minutes it was Happy Hour on Call of Duty Modern Warfare. And if I was smart - I would double down and activate my 2X weapon token...and rack up some serious XP.

So I left the comfort of the soft space our love occupies
And the dreamy pillowy sinews of our collective mind's eye...
And I rained a blood fury down on those dumb ******* like no one has ever done in a multiplayer first-person shooter, ever.
Laughing the entire time.... composing this epic poem for you... while shooting virtual people in the head with my rocket launcher.

Thus, is my true call of duty.