I wish I’d cooked you breakfast
I wish I’d cooked you breakfast;
toast and eggs,
layed out in bed,
and spread like butter on pancakes.
I wish I’d bought you flowers;
pink and red,
all preened and stemmed,
on the table for when you come home.
I wish I’d cooked you dinner;
candles and wine,
with plenty of time
to relax, to unwind, to entwine.
But I commit to much more than a day,
to much more than a temporary scene,
for I intend to begin and to end
every day with you kept like a queen.
And every day will be our Valentines,
for as long as the winds kiss the sea.
