The 13th of Love was a dark and stormy day.
When we love, most of us love that way.
Humans are monsters
(They wash their hair too much, they smile without their eyes)
And I can barely stand
To say “I like you,” and hold one by the hand.
The enmity between the genders is such
That love doesn’t happen that much.
One gender hates and envies the other;
Hatred gets to purge itself in the lover
By that strange and furtive act:
Naked, hating, with a great deal of tact.
But as soon as the hate is purged away,
Hatred between them resumes the next day.
We were like this, remember?
We forgot our love by September.
Little acts of mistrust and doubt
Gradually pushed the affectionate feelings out.
But there were never affectionate feelings, anyway,
Except for one dark, stormy day.
Envy and hatred looked the other way
As we drank.
And then we ate on St. Valentine’s Day.