Cheyenne Dorsagno– Contributing Writer
Every day, Holiday
My dad was my first Valentine
To my delight, a red rose which does not die,
sitting on my dresser afterschool…
When I was young and saw in morning cartoons
even bears had secret admirers.
I fantasized of hiding lovers
plotting their proposal, too nervous to confess
because the teachers didn’t make us give a card
folded small with inked convulsions
to each student – anymore.
Never had I
a surprise Valentine.
My father said “I hate Valentine’s day.”
Affronted, I recoiled, unbelieving of this noble man
I ask why, preparing my persuasion.
“Because every day should be Valentine’s Day.
You don’t need a reason to show your love.”
No longer do I imagine hidden paramours,
self-serving, shadowed daydreams of me
but devise outstanding, invariable gestures
in my constant celebration of tender life, opportune,
for someone of whom we won’t be surprised
that is my Valentine.
The Only Attraction
Kind, firm, and supple with bristly stubble
You swiftly take your cheek to mine and turn
Restrained from lips caress, the urge redouble
Wriggling under your muscles made stern
Insect’s flurry ‘round incandescent shine
That your stiff, scar-tissued fingers illume
Translucent desert spring, lost throat consign
Garden dirt made, my one natural groom
If this energy transfer, soul reborn
Or fast ascend toward pure, clouded realm
Let no time ‘tween us, no “us part” I’ve sworn
Someway, together, take the graven whelm
Ever steely magnetic reaction
No other, you’re the only attraction
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