On Valentine's

Cupid, little bastard you,

smiling so self pleased,
while red birds fly
in circles round the sun,
oh damn your eyes!

Despite my armoring myself
against your arrowings,
your lies,

despite my cursings of your name,

despite my iron pledge
to never ever be love’s thrall,

despite my callousing my heart
to harrow tenderness,
to bury lust,

you’ve once more won
the game.

You've won it all.

With one wave of your lily hand
you spiraled me to pulsing memory,
of someone heart flamed in my past
and robbed me of my stillness,
of my will
and wit.

And I am now again
in heat, leg weak, insaned.

You git!

Unjust!