On Remembering It’s Valentine’s Day

 

It registers as shy –

this inward state of yours –
a sort of loneliness – soft cry,
perhaps, from somewhere
in you you’ve not understood:

or understand too well.

Though here I swell
with psychoanalytic narrative
again – imagining I know.
That can’t be good. Today

I wish you were my pet.

I’d cuddle and caress you –
let you sleep right in my bed.
Unless you wanted
something else instead.










.