Four For Cupid

You are libretto, not some endless chorus line …

Two million hearts die on Valentine’s Day
the dearest of us fall to stop-sign sweethearts
the cackle of high heels and a loosened silk bow tie
sirens of whims forced on one another
caked and cookied emotions exchanged, shadows and planes
Sarabande, you are but a bight in the dust

You, Cupid, bring forth your borrowed narrow arrows
pierce my teddy bear heart in time
for I am a train-headed trodder of concrete and bedrock viaducts
your reprehensible lilacs, your damnable couple-headed dinners
for I burn like a meteor, red-hearted flinger of sentiment
giver of cards, merchant of pink

Handy and hardy healer of hearts, your mind drifts wildly
machinist of hallmarks and eventual skin
sinner of thought in the cuddliest of months
saint you may be, but say it ain’t so
demon of quivers, your shots ring occasionally true

You are libretto, not some endless chorus line
of quips and foibles, shouts and transient inner thighs
further than a stepchild from disappointment
double-jointed, yet straight as narrow
your heavy love and your heavy, heavy heart
pink as the moon in winter

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