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JOHANNA HEDVA

LOVE POEM

 

 

Never believe a poem titled love poem,

it won’t be about love.

Or beauty, or hope.

 

Or the fulfillment of perseverance,

or how elegant certain violences can be.

 

Or when a comfort becomes a cruelty,

and how fun that can be to inflict.

 

Or how a woman’s skin can smell like bread,

that this is sometimes enough.

 

Or how a man’s voice can contain the sound of one hundred terrified horses racing

across an uncivilized plain.

 

It might be about a stranger called “you,”

and in it, there will probably be some idiot called “I,”

and almost certainly it will demonstrate how something thought to be so full

can be emptied out in less than three words,

even,

with

only

or less than,

one.

 

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Circle Poetry Journal///Ministry of Obscure Knowledge  ©  2015