Friday, February 14, 2025

MY UNFUNNY VALENTINE

I've heard that,
like me,
every piece within you

has ridden the vim
of an interstellar burst—

but the whole 
of us now 

sooner marvels 
at this: 

that every blush 
recedes; 

all enthusiasms 
dim.

*

Don't blame 
Narcissus 

for what 
narcosis 
did.

*

All love exists 
in a bittersweet stasis—or else

swarms 
with the ghosts 

of our pathos 
and ignorance. 
 
Something left 
undone will breech 

the surface 
all at once,

the way an old taste might 
return to us unbidden. 

The shapes 
our mouths make 

in the dark
when we kiss 

can only be 
the inverse 

of the thing 
that we're missing.