I.

Your comment came to me attached to an ad for condoms,
I was so tickled that I saved a picture of the screen,
So obvious a sign and one I was so glad to receive.

II.

When you were angry with me once,
Your message said, "I love you. But-"
I love you. Period. But.
A confession and an admission,
A statement of fact and then a feeling,
And I felt so bad but you loved me. But-,
And that was all I ever asked.

I'm not feeling
excellent
lately.

'Q

I opened this page as he said,
"Write what you know,"
And I heard a girl whisper,
"You know I heard once
That writers don't write what
They know; they write what they
Wished they did,"
Guilty I lifted my pen
To keep from tracing that first word:
You.

"I write poetry about people all the time," I say.
("I write about you. Over. And over," I don't.)

'Q