Amour et Capitalisme: The Valentine's Day Poem

Don't get me wrong
Magic. Moment. Arcing high, high, higher
Trailing stardust, bending moonbeams, scorching time
Beyond everyone, everything
Save us
Save now.

Oh yes… Oh so….

So tonight, This Night
Weave your shanties to the sirens of opalescent flesh,
salted tips of tongue,
and foraged recesses of seared, shared souls.

Sing, Poets, Sing,
If not you, then who?
If not you, then Hallmark…

Yes.

There must be celebration.
There must be commemoration
There must be punctuation.
But must there be capitulation?

Tonight a million sweetheart roses will be tenderly arranged, just so
And acres of chocolate strawberries softly nibbled in sweet rotation
Heart shaped pendants will kindle torrents of tear soaked kisses
And proclamations of 'forever' will deafen the Gods.

But after the flowers die, and the fruit falls off the vine
And the diamond seems 'just a chip'.
And routine claims passion.
And dry pecks are hastily swapped at half opened doors
And passion resumes its bi-weekly schedule

When the cherubs and lace are 75% off
On clearance.
Making way for shamrocks and leprechauns
And bunnies and baskets galore.
Tell me, Poets. Tell me.
Please.
Then ---

Where is the Love?