do not be my valentine.

i am not a mayfly,

with twenty four hours of hedonistic bliss,

destined for an expiration date full steam ahead,

until my maker gifts a spritely kiss.

 

i have more days than one i hope,

weeks and months of work and play,

seasons of rain, snow and sun to bask,

before i meet my judgement day.

 

i pray for weeks to hold your hand,

months of drooping contentment falling asleep,

years of laughter at our inside jokes,

and thousands more promises i want to keep.

 

you are more than red roses,

than balloons or a bear,

you are thousands of poems,

and songs we can share.

 

so do not be my valentine, dear,

for one day is not enough each year,

for me to cherish your soft curls and sea surf eyes,

to grasp your thumb and attempt to disguise.

 

i’ll let those waves crash on my heart’s shore,

for more hours than merely twenty four. 

 

Imy Brighty-Potts

 

 

 

 

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