Heart-shaped want swells in my chest, teething
on a poem I am making up for you inside my head. The strings
attaching it to my throat are snapping, one by one,
in descending arpeggio. A kiss for a verse;
I’ll write a hundred just to hear the music. We can
break a wishbone over the chorus, swear with lover’s spit
under a paper moon. A paper moon
to dance under, to fold into a billet-doux. Darling, dearest,
I’ll hate you for this someday. Here comes the rattling breath of the crescendo.
Written in response to theme, “Valentine”.
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