this is not a love poem

shall we talk about poets

my one,

we don't really do love poems

do we, 

shall we talk of what we did,

the meals you served at night

on big white plates, 

in dimly lit white rooms, 

shall we discuss the la-di-da of 

artists, writers and neurasthenia

 well,

what shall we talk about-

when we sung together

we were always out of tune,

we didn't do diners, 

sunsets,  pretty things,

we dug holes, into the ground

buried some bottles to drink

for when we'd go

     down

      under

into the storm cellar,

so

shall we talk about poets 

my one

this is not a love poem

my love.