Not a Valentine

We don’t, I think you will agree, do Valentine’s day.

What would there, after all these years, be left to say?

I love you. Hardly possible you doubt it.

Do you love me? Oh, no two ways about it.

I plan, given how the women on your side go on and on and on, to die

in your arms, so the last thing I

will see will be your face,

and hear will be your voice,

and breathe will be a molecule or two of you.


Will that do?