A day of love, roses enclosed in little bouquets
Or greens, or on their own, in red and yellow,
Thorn-less for the grip of a lover.
A smooth surface to hold, preludes to confluences;
And lovers, needing to be little passengers
Of a celebration, making scarlet moments
Sink deep into memory bed.
Yet, Valentine’s day is a dirty little secret
Of how lovers, are given a nagging feeling
That on one day of the year
Life is outpoured, lavished in everything
Money can buy, to celebrate
What money can never deposit
In the trenches of the soul.