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February 11, 2024

Dearest February 14

Rain or shine,
at the coffee shop where I write,
handsome men go to and fro
in search of a coffee.
Hungry, intrigued, clumsy,
they smile, glance at the pastries,
and place their order.
Most often, they take their coffee to go.
Silent thoughts flutter
with light wing beats
and dive deep into the foam of double lattes.

In the distance, my heart beats like a spring chick’s,
spins and bounces like a weathervane.
The wind blows and I imagine
all these fine-looking men thrown towards my table,
their eyes drowning in mine.

All summer and late into fall,
a man disguised as a golf player
came in around 10 each day.
I locked my eyes on him, so gorgeous!
His smile spoke words to me.
Leaning over my keyboard
like a nun in prayer,
I’d catch his warm “hellos.”
I resuscitated long-silent words
only so I could write them to him one day.

Time comes and goes,
and autumn falls to sleep.
Winter’s howling gusts
bring cold and snow.
The backdrop is set
for the great seduction.

All the fir trees in my village
kneel on a white carpet.
They pray for me of course,
for my head enveloped in hope,
for my heart thirsty for love.

I think about what I am writing,
I look up and see him once more.
The man of my dreams enters the coffee shop
dressed in a stylish woolen suit.
My brain scatters, my heart goes boom,
my fingers freeze over the keyboard.

He looks and smiles in my direction,
I want to stop the hands of time.
This man of the same settled age,
will he finally talk to me?

Filled with squiggles,
my pages beg for springtime,
with its lush greens,
and the joyful song of finches.

Always, always, my heart hopes.
I dream of giving in to the temptation
of stray small white balls landing in my backyard,
of large lattes enjoyed under the silver maple.

I picture his build,
his welcoming chest.
His arms so strong and long,
his muscular legs
the colour of exotic caramel.
His eyes are a magnificent mauve blue.
His cheeks, candy-apple red.
Oh how I’d love to seek my teeth into them!

I dream, I fantasize, I imagine his head
filled with giant sunflowers.
His curly grey-white hair,
intertwined with my lacquered strands.

“Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea”
I dillydally and have fun.
I’m inventing a February 14
for all the lonely beings.