Even though veritable hypothetical unknown females
courtesy Facebook Messenger
frequently pepper their text messages to me
with sweet nothings,
which figurative playful banter tickle my fancy,
and immediately triggers romantic fantasies
courtesy every "Jane, Liz, and Mary,"
I (a former Norwegian bachelor farmer
now married Caucasian, latitudinarian,
nonestablishmentarian, sexagenarian,  
and Unitarian Democrat)
imagine dragon Siamese triplets
across the dance floor which
three in one package
considered a peculiar form of polygamy
who would marry yours truly in a heartbeat,
a regular unleaded yawping wordsmith
wherein a parallel universe
houses a doppelgänger of every one of us,
which mimics our every first and last move
creating Thicke blurred lines
analogous to cataracts obscuring field of vision
blinding me to brilliant babes in toyland
bodaciously, deleteriously, flirtatiously,
halfseriously, judiciously, and lubriciously
pricking my potent, latent and dormant libido
squelched courtesy the side effects
of one or more
of the nine prescription medications
taken to ameliorate
the physiological symptoms of social anxiety
(once upon a time seriously
debilitating panic attacks)
dysthymia, obsessive compulsive disorder
and palmar hyperhidrosis.

These anonymous recipients
that lavish affectionate
gooey honey words
immediately jump/kick start
thumping heart, and no matter I try
like the dickens to downplay
any illusions or delusions of grandeur
whereby sense and sensibility
run away at light speed
already envisioning (without pride
nor prejudice) ineluctable naked lunch
with a barenaked lady
dancing out of a birthday cake
(even though the date
would be other than January thirteenth -
the actual month and day
yours truly made slippery as an eel
made his debut appearance
out the birth canal
sixty six earth orbits ago
two thousand twenty five
after our harried styled tailored lord
purportedly ascended into the heavenly vault
cheaply tricked out as some
super ***** donning the mantle
of trumpeting amazing grace
videlicet eternal soul asylum
within elysian fields.

All to often
when currying a spicy friendship
with a veritable stranger
(frequently linkedin to a social media platform),
the profusion of affable hypocorisms
(/haɪˈpɒkərɪzəm/ hy-POK-ər-iz-əm or /ˌ
haɪpəˈkɒrɪzəm/ HY-pə-KORR-iz-əm;
from Ancient Greek ὑποκόρισμα hypokórisma;
sometimes also hypocoristic),
or pet name, registers
as a name used
to show affection for a person,
which incorporates a fondness
to encourage an attraction
felt toward another
offtimes bandied courtesy
uttered courtesy maternal persons,
where tender loving care
most certainly gently intoxicates
as if quaffing a sip of vintage spirits
anathema to this teetotaler,
even if he did not get
nine prescription medications
approved by Elizabeth Clark,
(a certified psychiatric nurse practitioner
(Nps), and physician assistants (Pas)
yours truly would not quaff spirits of the gods
cause he dislikes being in an altered state
and blurt out something
he immediately regrets.