The Fragility of Fondness

and I believe

the most beautiful poem

ever heard is your heart

racing

—Nikki Giovanni

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After subsequent years 
of designated silence 
She sent a small bouquet  
of context clues, 
a surprise delivery  
disrupting intervals  
of introspection 
& sentimental  
resignation.   

Whether love potion or love portion, 
memory thick or memory trick, 
the distinctions did not matter 
it simply startled him 
like a sudden inhale 
from one of Bukowski's cigars 
or Giovanni's trestle 
or Eliot’s erotic notes on the mantle 
left teasingly before sliding up to another.  

Oddly, his reaction ignited 
remorse & enrapture  
the twin candles flickering 
in the foyer 
welcoming an approaching 
thunderstorm
the wax burn, the twinge
mimed shadows  
that once outlined their embrace.  

Her prose hyper-ventilated calm 
alternating currents 
of electric levity 
& solemn tea leaf scrolls 
as if they could pluck  
glass fragments from the bedspread 
& melt them back into  
two red goblets 
to toast their warmest disregard. 

Photo by the author

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