I know of the creases in his shoes
but not the color of his eyes,
how utterly meaningless, romanticized
faults of man.

to be taken by the random
coming together of chromosome,
chance and missed chance,

In a dream he came to me;
he spoke to me in rhymed couplets

And my heart of sinew and muscle,
romanticized into something of feeling,
tuned for one moment to the sound of his
end rhyme

then sinks
to the bottom of my belly where it
pulls like a diver’s weight.
exerting itself against my body’s
own timid buoyancy