Today’s the second month and fourteenth day
of yet another year. When paper hearts
are cut from folded pink and Love portrayed
as a cartoon infant, blind and armed with darts
to skewer Spring’s first sons. Meanwhile pitchmen
ply their wares: the ‘forever’ diamond ring
the lingerie to make love young again,
and cut flowers already withering.
     How much for all the baubles bought and sold?
     For all the trinket-words and token-vows
     whether breathed in air or stamped in gold?
     The body’s love is in the broken boughs,
     in spilled blood-sap and fallen fruit and seed;
     it is our veins, not paper hearts, that bleed.

Other love poems here on Moss Kingdom: Love is Not All by Edna St. Vincent MillayPaper HeartsLes Bijoux by Charles Baudelaire (translated by Jacques LeClercq)A Seduction: in Four SeasonsLa Petite Mort: a breath of agonySonnet 28 from “14 Lines”Elegy 20 To His Mistress Going to Bed by John DonneNon Sum Qualis Eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae by Ernest DowsonRoll On Columbia: a sonnet for our tenth anniversary.

For more poems exploring multi-syllabic rhymes here on Moss Kingdom, check out these: Panda Loose in My BrainJonahCome Thou DayspringI Love it When you Call me KhaleesiPaper HeartsDoes God still have a body?