Each morning I scrub at you;
skin I've forgotten to shed,
film that hardened to shell.

You fall more easily, now.

Dust into my lungs -
not embers;
your taste no longer
scorches my throat.

I know to breathe you out.

What could I ask of Valentine's Day?
To be held tight and swept away?
For the sun to lift me to the sky,
or the moon to croon a lullaby?

To find myself - to grow, to learn?
For long lost dreams to now return?
To throw my heart, and it be caught?
For deepest fears to fade to naught?

For the softest kiss? The gentlest touch?
I used to think I asked too much.
Elaborate cards and frivolous gifts
could never truly capture this.

It seems unjust that just one day
is designated now to say
what love can bring, what love can do,
what I have found, in love, with you.

They say "love
like you've never been hurt"
but Hurt is the mud
I shaped into walls;
the fallout shelter that
I called home,
while my rivers ran dry
and the dustfall slowed.
In hurt I'm an expert.

They say "love
like you've never been hurt"
but we've made a pact,
Hurt and I:
He will be held close,
a piece of me,
not passed along
to the next boy I find
playing in dirt.

They say "love
like you've never been hurt"
but I promise to love you
like I have.

I dream of waltzing in the snow,
but not dancing alone.
There is another by my side
for every snowball thrown.

Another pair of dusted brows,
and cloudy breath combined.
Another set of icy lips
that choose to meet with mine.

I whisper gently in his ear
"I wish that I could stay.  
Our time is short, I know, but we
will meet again one day."

The world begins to fade and I
know just where I must head.
I'm pulled awake, and spread across
the usual crumpled bed.

The chorus of the dawn begins -
the robin, right on cue!
I don't know who he's chirping for,
but my song's just for you.