Saint’s Day Triolet: Saint Valentine

You’re flush with hearts and I’m forced to fold

this hand and swear off another luckless match.

How we’ve found ways to love each other, cajoled

our cindered hearts, flushed and forced to fold

upon themselves like Saint Valentine ensouled

with seizure, skin a whirring bee swarm, a hatched

flush of doves. My heart, how I’m forced to fold

my hands in prayer for another struck match.