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.