There is something faintly comical
and hopelessly masturbatory about love.
Sex made me weary; it made me laugh.
It’s difficult to make desire last
unless it cannot be.
When I couldn’t have you
you made more sense to me.
When I lost you
I found you singing in my poetry.
Please don’t think
I don’t take love and you seriously.
Laughter saved me
from the awful weight
of love. And as for hate…?
I did well, too.
When I laughed a little bit at you.