I was trying to come up with something that sounded deep, but wasn't. (More than usual, I mean.) So anyway, this is for those people who, for whatever reason, have a valentine who is easier to give a card to than to actually approach. Don't look for any hidden meanings; the whole point is to really not mean a damned thing.
I write today of valentines, with velvet trim and laces,
The sort we give to porcupines, instead of warm embraces;
We blame such silly practices on love, or fate, or Cupid,
But hugs for walking cactuses are nothing less than stupid!
The concept was romanticized by Hallmark (for the money),
But no one ever fantasized a quill-pig as a honey.
We end up with our porcupines in some or other fashion,
Then have to turn to valentines to substitute for passion;
We need a card’s assistance to protect us from a puncture,
When the need to keep a distance is required at this juncture.
So… my cuddly little porcupine, I’m sending you this card—
I want you for my valentine… but please, don’t hug too hard!
Oh, and for all those hits I keep getting for people searching for valentines day poems, click the tag for "love", and there are a few more on this site. If you have someone you think might like one of them, you are incredibly fortunate; they are not Hallmark.