Flowers wilt,
chocolates melt.
Why then do I find
I can’t help myself? 
When you offer 
transitory tokens, 
Or your love words, 
Too softly spoken? 
If the bubbles,
in the champagne never last. 
Why do I find myself 
still reaching for the glass?
When you offer
sweet libations, 
softly whispered 
invitations 
just to steal,
a moment now,  
then an hour, 
succumbing 
to the power?
Imagine the idea, 
the very thought, 
that my love,
can be bought 
with fancy words, 
sweet affirmations, 
somehow sealed, 
with secret assignations.
Where is the appeal, 
of valueless trinkets that please, 
lace covered cards 
that cajole or tease? 
Flowery offerings 
surrounded by thorns? 
Promises broken,
Hearts shattered, and torn.