Mirrored from Sythyry.
I peered at the paper that Arfaen handed me.
Wiggle your tentacles to mine heart
And let me feel embraces
Make sure that we don’t ever part
And often mash together kissy faces
Oh, how I wish our romance would get a start
You look so sexy with those maces
Aloneness stinks worse than any fart
Togethernessmentality doth tango with the Graces
Wiggle your tentacles to mine heart
And let me feel embraces.
— Yr Invincibly Secret Admirer
“Are you asking for my poetic advice, or my romantic? The poetry is … well … I’m not sure that the word ‘fart’ belongs in a love poem. And, well, it’s aimed at Grinwipey, isn’t it? He being the only one with tentacles on board. He’s only interested in other Khtsoyis, from all I hear, and I hear a good deal,” I told her sadly.
Arfaen snorted. “My sweet clueless concubine! I have been around the block more than once! How can you imagine I’d write something like this? Or misunderstand Grinwipey’s true nature? Besides, don’t you recognize my handwriting?”
I looked more closely. “I would recognize your handwriting, I think, but this is printed. And you are the main one on the ship who uses the printing press.”
Arfaen giggled. “Yes, but for menus. I don’t print love poems and stick them up in the dining hall and all the most popular parlors. I don’t write love poetry at all — I don’t even like it.”
“I have seen better and worse examples of the craft. I suspect that the feelings of the author are deep and intense, which is all that the poem is really saying,” I said. “The actual words should probably be ignored, if one is reading it charitably.”
“I wonder if Grinwipey will read it charitably? Or this one.” Arfaen handed me another printed poem:
Oh, caress the opening of my nasal passages with the underside of your eyestalk!
Break off a stalk of flowering fungus for my face
Let us engage in bouncy boinking, and, afterwards, talk
And I shall with bright-colored paints and sparkly powders adorn your mace.
Oh, the love between us must be stronger than putty or caulk
My desire for you is strong enough to win a foot or chariot race
Don’t swiftly away from me walk
Or levitate or however you get from place to place
But caress the opening of my nasal passages with the underside of your eyestalk!
Break off a stalk of flowering fungus for my face.
— Yr Fiery Secret Admirer
“We must find the secret admirer and administer lessons in scansion. Harsh lessons, poignant lessons, fierce lessons!” I proclaimed.
“Between the Orren smell and the clues in the signatures, I suspect that poor Invincible Fire Demon has figured out his transaffection in the worst possible way,” said Arfaen. “There’s one more:”
Except you have two mouths
Nominally burning touches, that’s my part.
Soft-spoken words of love
We can both do that
Urgently spoken words of passion.
An Orren and a Khtsoyis
One complete love
Since time began
Predestined to be as one.
We’ve been together before
In other lifetimes
We’ve fought taptet and mherobumps
And have been torn from each others arms or tentacles as the case may be
Yet our love prevailed.
We’ve walked on this tree many times together
Perhaps for a moment
Perhaps for years
But our heart is one heart
Which is why I’m using the singular for it
And we were meant to be.
So when our time on wood
Once again comes to a close
Have no worries my dear
For we will find each other again
For our love is ageless
A love for all time.
Or at least a few really good months.
— Yr Daemonic Secret Admirer
“Invincible Fire Demon really should stick to the rhyming poetry,” I said.
p “He should also simply deliver his poetry secretly to the object of his affections. Posting them all over the ship is a bit much, even for an Orren who is finally getting in touch with his sexuality,” said Arfaen.
“Perhaps ask Lithia to have a talk with him?” I suggested. “I think they’re close.”
“As long as I don’t have to,” said Arfaen.