Loving

Play here or above to follow the poem.

it’ll crisscross you in stripes,

in chevron where it won’t line up;

I will sparrow-flock it through you,

a swarm of little

singing stabbing

irritating & regurgitating

beaks, poking into you

each little twig of it— yes,

I’ll nest and nestle you,

polka-dot your doubty grumps,

pin up birthday banner corners

of a mouth inclined to frown,

yes, even if I’m off by months.