A Valentine card from, a card? A slight slide of hand, I may just try, to fashion for you a Furbelow of writ skits, to bestow upon you a garland of poems. Convoluted concoctions, word constructions of rickety blocks, or elaborately decorated frocks, drapes. An ornamental vine with no grapes, a prospect to prosody, from a nobody. Perhaps is no intricately wove string of flower and thorny rose, garlic, just prose, noisome and prickly, to be deleted quickly, or maybe not get through at all. A die hard a card, a poisonous wreathe, a sour taste of missal tome, mistletoe, camel toe, a moment of grief, only to learn the term, then relief. Is true. Thankyou. Oh. The shame. Lol.