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Valentine Song
by Ed Bennett

How incongruous,
this damp, cold season
of weakened sun
engrafted to a holiday
of warm red hearts,
of the primal beat and fecund passion,
of love mythologized by
the brutal, beating sleet

somewhat like ourselves,
exchanging kitschy seasonal gifts
as we sip our tea, ignoring
the overriding stab
of an arthritic hand
and the many, minor
exigencies of our flesh
gradually betraying us.

What has not changed
is the glow wound about you,
the perpetual spring of
your voice in my ear,
your smile in my failing sight,
the knowledge that
I share these moments
with the one true love
of my lingering days.

The season will lose
its gelid teeth soon enough
in the sweet alchemy
of the coming equinox,
as it has through each
transitioned year where
all is lessened and all
will bow to the newness
of the marching seasons.

But you, my constant love,
are beside me always,
the lodestone of my joy,
the eternal engine that
grants true meaning
to the dance of our days.


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