How to Be the Perfect Valentine
Do not buy me those sweet, sweet chocolates
ripped from the labors of a slave child in the Côte d’Ivoire
and pretend that this is a sign of true love.
This can only be a sign of ignorance, neglect and hate.
Do not buy me those red, red flowers
plucked from the earth at their very prime
destined to die a slow, labored death.
Do not pretend that this is love.
Do not buy me shiny, glittering cards
printed on the husks of dead trees
with inks made in factories that stain the world’s lungs.
This, this, no.
This cannot be love.
Bring me your two hands
and the taste of your words plucked fresh from your lips.
Bring me to the stars and the sand and the moon.
Bring me to the edge of the ocean.
Bring me these things because they are love
and they are loved by everyone and anyone the same.
And when we all look up,
we see the same magic in the same expansive sky
and together our love can conquer a season
and herald a new monsoon
in the drought of the living.