To Realize I Don’t Write About Love
and then test my skepticism with a Love poem
like Shahid’s refugee tasting debris of Belief on his tongue
if Love, /ləv/, is anything
a cultural object systematically sculpted by a social world
to sell Twilight alongside Faulkner,
if Love precedes Hallmark and candied almonds
and a false motive for growing old,
if Love does more than romanticize Senior Prom
I promise I will write about Love.
let me try it.
if I get those tingly fingertips
and the swarm of butterflies in my crotch
if it stays for more than a week
I will write about Love.