I wish I’d cooked you breakfast

I wish I’d cooked you breakfast; toast and eggs, layed out in bed, and spread like butter on pancakes.

I wish I’d bought you flowers; pink and red, all preened and stemmed, on the table for when you come home.

I wish I’d cooked you dinner; candles and wine, with plenty of time to relax, to unwind, to entwine.

But I commit to much more than a day, to much more than a temporary scene, for I intend to begin and to end every day with you kept like a queen.

And every day will be our Valentines, for as long as the winds kiss the sea.