this is not a love poem.
this is a poem about cheesecake
an itty-bitty one with a strawberry on top
that I placed very carefully
in your fridge
like that grape juice I got you
that one time.
this is a poem about meaningless movies
that we sat through together
bubbles of anxiety
pretending we weren't guessing
what the other was thinking
every other minute.
this is a poem about monopoly
and speedy-quick die rolls
that saved me
and my railroad conglomerate
from brutal taxation
once upon a party.
this is a poem about salad
and how much of it you ate
incredulous
at my little plate
plenty for my nervous little stomach
that day.
this is a poem about poems
that I wrote and sent
and you absorbed in all their
sweet and delicate
heart-soul glory
every now and then.
this is a poem about me and you.
but it is not a love poem.
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