,a friend told me. she was
in love once, & since felt
the knife slide right through
her. so love is just a stomach
ache, then. love is the uneat
-ing unsleeping thing inside.
love is magic, it is so much
like pixie dust; try & hold it

,i told her. feel its ridges
& folded edges. feel its
amorphous underbelly & tell
it that it doesn't hurt like
you. tell me you see purple
in a deeper hue, and that
blanket weight on your collar
bones is heavier than mine.

i'd love for it to be not love.
i'd love to have an hour of
eating & sleeping where i am
not imagining sharing it with
You. do You think of me, too?
what it might be is not love,
what it might be is a stomach
ache, what it might be is over

soon, what it might be is never.