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.