Oh my petite,
You're a five-course dinner with the works
and a lovesick tantrum.
Your affection
like a hummingbird,
with how it pecks and pecks and
pecks.
Lips faster than one-sixtieth of a second
when you say
You don't love me anymore
But darling, I've got a
letterbox heart
Iron locks and
Silver casts
Filled with postcards
to no address.
Open me up and find
your name scrawled inside
over and
over
and
over.
(Oh Love, I still do.)
