Then again, maybe my voice is precisely what’s needed to round out their collection of $6.99 Valentine’s Day cards.

Roses are red,
violets are blue...
wait, are violets blue?  what do violets look like again?
are those flowers that die every year?
'cause that would be a really crappy flower for a love poem...
a love poem I've ruined because I don't know my freaking flowers.
just forget the whole thing, dammit.

I would pour my heart out, my sweet -
tweeting the depth and breadth of our love
out into the universe
so the very stars themselves could admire
its brilliant resilience -
if only my Twitter account hadn't been suspended
for inappropriate language.

You're the man who always takes my side
  of the bed...
who ignores my quirks
  unless the guests needs an entertaining anecdote
and smooths my hair
  aside, so it doesn't block the tv.
We fit together like a 1,000 piece puzzle -
  edges smooth, picture delightful,
  with the occasional breakdown while piecing together the sky.

The man (woman, person, lover, dog) of my dreams
is strong and sure -
sure in the knowledge we must have lost our minds,
thinking ourselves the master of our fate
when we're caught on a planet spinning 'round the sun,
trusting gravity to hold us fast.
You stare aghast
at the clutter scattered about me
while I think perhaps, at long last,
I've met The One who keeps a calendar.
But alas,
I'd be wrong.

You're the yin to my yang,
the sweet to my sour,
the only one I'll share my nachos with.
True love forever, baby.
(But it lasts longer if you bring your own nachos.)