I was reading some Leibniz
In my local library
(My lonely life
Alliterates Wildly)
When a girl ran up
And grabbed me
By my poet’s hands.
And proclaimed
Kindly:
“I love your poetry…
I love your poetry...”
She paused
But then proceeded nobly:
“I fucking love your poetry!”
I looked to her and laughed
“What if I write a poem
About this?
Then maybe you’ll
Love yourself.
It could end
In a couple’s kiss?”
She smiled.
But then
Walked away.

High heels clearly
Clicking out her
Meter on the polished
Marble floor.
Poetry flowing
Flawlessly behind
And running on
Perfectly before.
Metaphors
Rhythm
Structure.
And, Or.

And I swear
To you.
By the steady
Sway
Of her locked
Bedroom
Hips.
And the
Deep red
Coral
Of her
Late night lips.
From this point
On. Oh.
Poetry is to be
Found in actions
Not in words.
In my actions.
Not my words.

And I chased after her
Quoting poems.
Trying to join our
Awkward lives
Up with a rhyme.
Something
About there being
Too much space
Between us.
And oh so little time.

And I shouted out
“What’s your title?”

…

Suddenly she stood and stopped.
And the pace between us slowed and dropped.
And all the light of the stars upon her shone
But then she started up again
And just kept walking on.

Such a shame.
Well then girl
To me
The title
Of this offbeat
Kink
In life is:
“No name.”