A memory is Valentine
of chocolates and ageless wine.
I married a pathologist
but every time we hugged and kissed
her lips did taste like iodine.

I met her at the microscope
a student nerd I was, a dope.
Her bosom rested on the bench
the scent was definitely French,
exuding earth and fragile hope.

I baited her, a Bogart line,
she caught the lure, which was a sign
In Central Park, on frozen dew
lips flushed and cyanotic blue.
That's when I tasted iodine.

Worldwide we have deficiency
which robs us of efficiency.
A halogen named Iodine
the cause of imminent decline.
I tell, it is my mission, see?

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/late-valentine-she-complained/