Lupercalia
Praise be my infertility!
The hedonism of this special day where
man and boy may whip me with goat’s hind dripping,
their unconditional masculinity set free.
Valentine is not worthy of this unashamed orgy,
His Hallmarked presence sweetened for Catholic palettes
at exorbitant cost to the virgin’s excuse
of anonymous promise with unblushing revelry.
My name is in the pot with a subscript written
in a language known only to Juno’s interns:
‘Excused from service with full military honours’,
endorsed by Her own resigned hand.
Whispering the mantra of the she-wolf sucked dry,
lust embraced for the greater good,
my heart preserved, like minds understood…
we know that the birds will sing sweeter today.
BOONWRITER 
That will mean hell from the seagulls in a few weeks! This is brilliant. You must try and publish it for next feb.
You wrote a much smarter one than I. Complex, balanced and a beautiful outward turning ending.
Had to reread it several times. Loved the classical references to Juno and the she-wolf (suckled by Romulus and Remus). If I remember correctly the Lupercalia was a special festival for February 15th. Today. Where the city was purified but it was also about fertility. I like how your tags note all the things i’ve just worked out for myself. lol. Anyway, it’s very deep. Thanks for sharing.
A passionate and heartfelt cynicism, perhaps? In 40 odd years I have seen more of what love is not, but I’ll still give me ear to a birdsong for all that it wants.