…the loved becomes the lover,
the seeker sought, the kindler burns…
They met on a lonely street,
behind a sign that read, Love.
He asked the time and she
told him 8:00, her place.
They drank Merlot and he read
her horoscope from Allure.
Cupid will strike on the most obvious
of days. Throw up your shield, protect
your heart. She laughed and pulled
the red tablecloth over her breasts.
His deep voice said playfully
Let me give you another chance,
from another time. He whipped out
a paper from his coat pocket, scanned
for Scorpio and pretended to read,
It is time for your very own apocalypse.
Make love to a complete stranger
now — and tell him how good it feels.
She wrapped her legs around him,
scissoring his small waist as he
carried her to the canopy bed.
The next morning, he watched her
pulsing pupils change form — from
daggers to wingtips, revolving in circles.
He sipped love potion and poured
several drops into her coffee, scribbled
a note on a post-it pad and quietly
exited the room, tipping his hat.
When she woke, she took a sip
of warm coffee. What a charmer,
she thought and chuckled to herself,
he’ll be back. She traipsed to the door
to make sure it was locked and noticed
a note tacked against the red wood
with an arrow. This is my love,
for the hole in your heart.