I never caught your eye
though I meant to, today.
you never looked at me
and though I hoped you would
I knew not to expect it;
my love affairs are nothing
and no one will talk of them
brief, bloodless, unfulfilling.
and there is a small, cold pride
in being unconqured, unvanquished--
(avoiding the thought: unwanted,
unable) to be in love
is overrated, somewhat trite
since St. Valentine became a salesman
and was canonized a charlatan.
so hasty kisses are quickly abandoned,
pushed to the gutters of history
to wither and fade from neglect
and your lips are cold ghosts--
cupid's unwanted children.