Everything loving can fit into a cartoon,
The history of love is contained by the moon:
A lover’s mind is a cave, bathed in moonlight,
The eye not seeing, but feeling the stare of its eyesight,
As the lover looks at Mona and cries, “I cared for Mona a lot,
But it ended the one time—the one time—I forgot.”
The moon, a cold stone, shows organic rot
How to be eternal; above the ruminations and the plot,
Phases of root and branch and flower are the phases we forgot.
Cupid drawn by a cartoonist with a dirty mind
Has no sound or smell and makes you almost blind.
The look of what this man is doing
Is not okay for viewing.
The hot sun white at noon.
The dark contrast. The cartoon.
