valentines.txt

The trees are in misery. The birds do not sing to you, my valentine, they just screech in pain.
We can live in harmony, valentine, the harmony of overwhelming and collective murder.
Valentine, without you I would be like the cows in a field, and I don't want to live like that.
Valentine, we have mutual respect for each other, even as we both plan each other's murder.
Valentine, together we will boil water and stop fish.
Valentine, love is not analysis, it is an agitation of the mind.
Valentine, the thought of you has sunk deep into me as a wolf's tooth sinks into the carcass of its prey.
Valentine, in your eyes I see the light, the heat; also chaos, hostility, and murder.
Every grey hair on my head, I call you, Valentine.
Valentine, from the forbidden recesses of my heart's darkest chamber I chose these flowers for you. They are ferns.
Valentine, much like the black ice that presently covers this cruel city, our love is stubborn and insidious.
Valentine, like a stanza in a poem written in an unknown foreign tongue, you shake me to the core.
Valentine, be the unforgiving tundra to my deranged penguin.
Valentine, I love you as I love the jungle: against my better judgment. 
Valentine, we ought to be grateful that the Universe out there knows no smile.
Roses are red, or white, or any number of colors except blue. Blue is the color of asphyxiation and death; nature's gift to us all.
I hear the ravens, valentine, but a denial is building up inside me.
If we actually make it, valentine, no one will know what this journey means.
Valentine, it occurred to me that in the time that we spent together possibly three or four languages have died.
Valentine, human life is part of an endless chain of catastrophes, the demise of the dinosaurs being just one of these events. We seem to be next.
Valentine, if I abandon this project I would be a man without dreams and I don't want to live like that.
Dear valentine, with you I see planets that don’t exist and landscapes that have only been dreamed.
Valentine, I would travel down to Hell and wrestle you away from the devil if it was necessary.
Valentine, you are but an insignificant bullet.
Valentine, as the flames of passion lick towards us in this fiery car wreck, let us hope for imminent death.
Our love is as heartbreakingly beautiful as Baby Yoda, Valentine.
Valentine, to replace you would be an act of unspeakable cowardice like replacing the Baby Yoda puppet with computer graphics.
Let us stay in and watch Wrestlemania, Valentine, for a poet must not avert his eyes from the truth of the world.