VALENTINE

So what, we drank too much, insulted our sister,

hogged attention, laughed until a coughing

fit brought tears. Our punishment is to not sleep,

to forever wonder what everyone thinks of us now.

How skillfully we whip our faults

into froth, skim with a slotted spoon,

flick thick wads into the sink, where it oozes

down stainless sides, like shame itself, towards the drain.

Admit it: neither of us is going anywhere.

There are diagnoses for what we are.

You love me until it chokes; you feed

and deny me, scorn my dilemmas, disrupt my

suicidal plans. And I allow it all,

my one and only Self.