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?