There hasn’t been much tender talk between
us two in recent years. It never varies.
You don’t say much, but I know what you mean
when you bring home a box of chocolate cherries.
I wouldn’t really know how to reply
if suddenly you waxed romantic, quoting
Shakespeare’s words of love like some old guy
who’d reached his second wind (or else his dotage).
Our love is easy. I’m here. So are you.
You watch TV and I compose these lines
that you won’t read and I won’t ask you to:
two aging, silent, life-long valentines.
Okay, it’s not Godiva that you bought —
chocolate’s chocolate. Never mind the thought.