|
Yes, I hear the voices of protest,
legions of lovers lamenting
all things commercialary
about the fourteenth day
of February.
I contemplate the call to resist the
cheapening and ruin of romance.
For I, too, am disheartened, yes, sickened.
I would roar out with slogans and chants
pronouncements of rage and affection,
but words in my mouth are muffled
by moist, warm, melting confections.
♦
|
