9 

snaking down supermarket
aisles, a line of tonguetied Cyranos
with their valentine wishes hung from
disregarded stars, each one impatiently
drumming finger-
tips on denim.

Posies, baby’s breath,
every shade of rose

Florist-wrapped bouquets
capture fleeting whispers of Eros.

The price for a few meaningful
words dripping honey has gone
through the roof
one requited lover jokes
a kiss upon love’s altar, or half a tank of gasoline?

at the cash register I pull out a
crumpled mass of ones, the cashier
accidentally snaps a stem.
One broken stem is another
sonnet I’ll have to write, anyway.