It's not a store-bought card that matters
But the words you mean to say
And I think you put it perfectly
When you say it everyday

It's not an annual reservation
At a fancy-schmancy place
But trips to our favorite joints
Where I can freely stuff my face

It's not the occasional vacation
To a plush, romantic place
It's spending every night together
In each other's sweet embrace

It's not the lavish gift of diamonds
Or an exorbitant bouquet
But priceless effort behind the daily grind
That undeniably conveys

Just how much you truly love me
In your own peculiar way
And since you do it all the time
I bet you'll keep it up today

Have a happy, HAPPY Valentine's Day!

December, December
Now, I remember
You're the annual pilgrimage
On a road steeply cambered

It begins with just a kind word
Softly spoken like a gentle touch
Words that make the heart stir
Like 'I adore' and such

If the heart realizes that
You love it very much
Then you need not go much further
To get the heart to budge

With each and every whisper
Let the heart be its own judge
It will inch a little closer
If it feels your kind words' nudge

Dark are the days
Bright are the nights
I can't stay awake
I cannot sleep tight
I lie here and wonder
How it's going to be like
When the dawn breaks

My head's in a maze
Oh, how I hate the light
I'm learning to bake
At eleven at night
I sit here and ponder
How it's going to be like
When the night wakes

I meant to write a rhyme for you
The day you came around
But I had so many things to do
Too caught up to expound
The reason why I didn’t write that rhyme
When Saturday came around
But by then you’d left without a clue
And could no longer be found

It was a wildly windy evening
The trees were articulating the conditions
With rhythmic sways
And crispy rustling
To the chorus of native wind chimes
And the trills of resident song birds

It was only mildly chilly this evening
Light wind jackets and caps were in fashion
The sky was a smooth glow
Of delicious blood orange hues
Punctuated by the first triumphant flight of a little girl’s kite
And the shrills of such a monumental moment

It’s eleven a.m.
I’m in yesterday’s slip
I awake to the sound of the dog licking his lips

He’s in the room
At the edge of the bed
With an unobstructed view of my delectable head

I follow his stare
Which travels down my hips
His stomach churns, his saliva drips

Suffice it to say
If he's not swiftly fed
Yours truly here will soon be dead