Because I have learned from you the art of maiming,
I hang my fruit, sectioned and unwhole, in a bowl
of shadows scalped from the deep of unyielding night.
Because I have learned from you the art of leaving,
I prance and strut, stage left and right, sidestepping
the bark of the director's cut. Always, an invisible longing
Because I have learned from you the art of loving,
By association I have learned to maim and leave
a pale moon ring, an onion, a scent that clings to a knife
(like yours)
Because I have learned from you to learn my lessons well,
I carve my lessons in abstract. I write to you a
valentine.
