This is the day my heart
stops beating
A wounded cupid
Who suffers
The slings and arrows
Of his own misjudgment
Self inflicted from which
There is no cure
A gift of gods gone awry
Gone sour
Like win left out
Too long to rot.
I envy everybody I see
Carrying their hearts
On their sleeves
Or in the brown paper bags
They carry from the CVS
Where they have purchased
Cards or candy
Or the overly ripe
Places full of roses
Of every color,
All hold out these things
To lure the girls
They claim to love,
But what gift do you bring
For a soul who despises
Such gesture,
Who demands some other
Deeper demonstraton
A more significant sign of love
We cannot carry
In paper bags
Or purchase them from
The store on the corner
Nor can we know exactly
The right gift to give
She must tell us,
But won’t,
Leaving us to learn
This for ourselves,
And there lies the dilemma,
Needing to know her more
Than we do,
To learn without words
Something more than
Mere gestures,
And on this day of all days
To know better than to
Wear of hearts on our sleeves.
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