Ten Things My Valentine Should Know

Gossip is gasoline,
and only one
believing mind needs
to be the match.

Death and taxes are
guaranteed, ‘long as
opposites attract.

If you make a pact with
your Devils, always sign it in pencil,
never pens.

Treat your heavensent as
heathens,
blessings as
bereavement calling,
they won’t likely be
following you
down.

To
rise
above the
rest,
you must know how
it is to drown below them,
find your road stepping on
shoulders and
heads,

past an
army of outstretched hands
treating gravity as
gospel.

To find the beauty
in things, you can’t deny
something awful must’ve
occurred mid-creation
to forge
that bond.

You are my hand drawn
inspiration, full of youthful
impatience, but with
wisdom I’ve
never owned.

If love is a
muscle memory, what you’ve meant to
me is bones,

forever embraced in
time’s imperfections.

You’re never alone, for
even a ghost,
this scrap of paper’s
my voice and
its sentiment, my vice.

You can read this when you’re old,
and it will never
crash with
the markets nor
melt with the ice of
passing seasons, change like the
presidents or die out
like daylight.

You won’t ever stop
moonlighting as my
muse.

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