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Valentine’s Day is the prostitute of love,
Selling itself for a chocolate or some card.
It cannot begin to fill the need to shove
A heart into the next dimension or discard
Reason for a chance to snuggle closer.
A Valentine’s Card will never replace
Warming the bed on her side
Or light the smile of her special face
Or fill the void when NOW
Consumes both our hearts.
So, friend, warm the bed on her side
All year, after the commercial smarts
Sell their thirty-second, joy-juice ride
They call “LOVE”. For love is a soft sell.
Yes, I said, “Soft,” like a whisper,
Like a lingering reminder that she is well
And safe and near and…hell, kiss her
Any time except Valentine’s Day.
It is simple.
Omitting that commercial day
While honoring all the others
Is a special way
To say, “I love you.”
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