The Bible forgot
the eighth and most deadly sin,
which, of course, is Love.

how lucky am I
to have loved so deeply
that in losing it
I lost myself

how lucky am I
to have felt lies so truly
that I believed
I found myself

I awoke into
A graveyard of bronze horses
The metalwork entwined with dead roots
Upon their backs were words I could not read
About lonely hands
And a plaque was set into the stone
That I could not remove
With dry leaves blown round my feet
I wondered how I'd returned

I love you more
than the air in my lungs
upon which I'm carried
away from your arms

I burned my fingers
thinking about when we met
and your nitrogen

you are the ugly sweater of this city
someone loved you once
back when you were new and sincere
and you got all stretched and worn
tossed in a box
donated
like your plasma
and you didn’t drink enough water
to ward off the pain
of how now the only love you can find
is in irony

and she calls you an ugly sweater