Dear Katie,
please pardon the confusion--
mine,
yours,
the weather's.
In group they wanted us to talk about
someone who really loves us.
I started to laugh
like slipping on ice
I couldn't wave myself fast enough
to save a fall
and the laughing became an ugly cry.
They like us to do things with our hands here
so I made
a love potion for you.
Yeah, too late. like checking a smoking oven.
But,
I can still portion by intuition
like how much to kiss you in the morning.
I used
a pinch of rust from a love lock
the memory of five black tulips
and 1 tsp essence of caramel fudge ice cream--
Jeff Buckley ballads to taste
baked at 350 until the moon turns silver like your poetry.
Gosh Katie,
they took away my books,
said I needed to engage with others.
I went back to group today and said, whoa, back up--
let's do that thing
from yesterday.
I pulled my **** together this time, not like before,
and I said,
Katie mon amour
Katie je t'aime je t'aime, je t'aime.
This one ***** goes, you're not French,
you're not even Canadian you ******* freak
But she never stumbled drunk up the stairs with you,
poetry ringing in our ears and the summer night on our skin.
More to be pitied than scorned,
I can hear you say.
Anyway,
love ya girl
Katie mon amour,
Our Lady of Tulips and the Silver Moon.
I was asked to compose a valentine. This is it.
