Excuses

He puts the thoughts in her head into words,
And, with each careful stanza, he'll design,
New feelings that, like cavalry, when spurred,
Will charge to distant battles; Valentine
Would don his Roman armour to take part
And seize the victory that love would win;
For amours need a strategy; their art
Weaves its way through every single thing
That will support his triumph in her mind,
When she attends to lines that she suspects,
Were plucked from thoughts that scarcely were defined,
But, why should love declared be circumspect?
And, why should he behave as if he's bought
A valentine, when he can steal her thought?

Envoy

So club him, stone him and behead his corpse
At the Flaminian Gate; he can't resent
A burial sans ceremony - her thoughts:
Finding she has neither card nor present.