Love Poem

If by truth you mean hand then yes

I hold to be self-evident and hold you in the highest—

KO to my OT and bait to my switch, I crown

you one-trick pony to my one-horse town,

dub you my one-stop shopping, my space heater,

juke joint, tourist trap, my peep show, my meter reader,

you best batteries-not-included baring all or

nothing. Let me begin by saying if he hollers,

end with goes the weasel. In between,

cream filling. Get over it, meaning, the moon.

Tell me you’ll dismember this night forever,

you my punch-drunking bag, tar to my feather.

More than the sum of our private parts, we are some

peekaboo, some peak and valley, some

bright equation (if and then but, if er then uh).

My fruit bat, my gewgaw. You had me at no duh.