Old Valentine (poetry)

I no longer have the card but
I can picture it —
traditional red roses sprinkled with
a scattering of glitter
a surprising choice — romantic —
so not-him
to pick something like that
with a rhyme, too —
sugar-sweet — the old flame aches
inside — remembering that verse —
recalls the lines I took to heart —
but knew were never his.

Those words were penned by someone paid
the going rate —
a pound or so a line back then —
commercial freelance sentiments
imagined personal.

I know — I’ve been there —
scribbling out short fictions —
putting words in someone else’s mouth
when they have none —
too tongue-tied to invent
a pretty declaration of their own.

He signed it — biroed blue
and I kissed away the name over the months
my teenage passion lasted
until only a lipstick smear remained.
Things cooled — he cheated and we parted —
that cherished card long-gone
yet a stranger’s pretty sing-song words live on...
remembered all these years as though
they might have been
for one brief dizzy moment
                                nearly true.