What is love but speculation?
We carefully construct our appearance
and speak reasonably and passionately;
a courting ritual so deceitful and ambitious
in its attempt to win loyalty and devotion.
And yet, it is love that enters in
behind lust and desire. It eats away
selfish demands, revealing joy and
childish giddy inhabiting even stern moments
of solitude. Our love, as specific
and anonymous as St. Valentine,
brought by circumstance, is a fragile,
eternal string, banding our fingers and
binding our lives. The love that we share
is not ours, but it is for us to own.

Today I own my love for you, my Love.