First impressions passed by
as if too busy to try to please anybody
so
variously,
You were a land dispute in a cold place,
a piece of bacon on a ceramic plate,
a curtain-rod edge that rolled under the bed,
a letter of apology posted slightly late,
the back of a sleek anonymous head

I don't know what I felt for you
so vague, distressing
coloured in shades of irrelevant
Which is the best thing, considering.
When we were together, dinner was fine
conversation stilted but passed the time
I suppose
I'd rather think of you than of nothing at all
Perhaps you are my valentine.
****.