Cupid’s Day approaches,
Like some monolithic symbol on the “Sea of Love.”
Lover’s old and new find anxiety ten-fold over.
Commercial “Sex Brokers” at every turn, peddling gifts
Of romantic nature to seduce the hungry innocent
And cater to a generation of those libido driven.
They call it “LOVE,” but seldom is it found.
Lonely people . . . wandering through empty places in their psyche,
Clad in frustration, stifled voices from within . . .
Longing to let another know.
Filled with despair . . . feelings and passions rising
To choke off all available air.
Fear of rejection, impending exposure, possible risk,
Tension mounting, heartbeats too fast for counting.
Unspoken promise of ecstasy waiting.
People alone, RUN . . . Hide from the shame!
If you’re not having sex, you’re not in the game!
So maybe I’ll sleep . . . Alone!
©Kat Ryan, 2/11/92