Having forgotten how to love
he wraps his rope round the first word he finds
behind each belt buckle.
Playful. Harmonious. Seductive.
I don’t have a signature.
Plus, I deserve a pizza.
It was great and bubbly
talking about poetry
with the windchimes.
My mind is a fuzzhead.
Chime one for me, Somerset.
—X marks the spot.
