the Sin of Saint Valentine

2:22 a.m. in the cold of night
On the ceiling, the smoke detector is the only source of light
A speck of red to remind me where I am
With just enough glow to show the cold space of alone
Exposing my naked flesh beneath the cover I have blown
That was concealing my heartless fantasies
But the breath on my skin is just an icy breeze
And the cinnamon scent hat fills the stale air
From the mouthwash for someone who is not there
To help me believe in her cinn-full kisses
Granting more than my lonely sinful wishes
Why must I suffer the sins of Valentine?
A life-sentence for acts that were never mine
Until freedom arrives with my final breath
The eleventh hour ticks until my death
As the softness of my youth lies here withered
And the flowers she sent went undelivered