By | 1 July 1998

In love
I’ll usually effect a threshold.

Usually a stream.

And there we splash and banter.

The threshold is my flattened-out organs
without a summit.

Or sometimes I dig holes
and think that I’m clever.

It’s a method of frustration
and deferral.

Although when I’m in love
like I am with you.

I’m a citrus orange
plunged chest first
on to a stainless steel juicer.

Waiting for a pure form
of domestic violence
to turn delicious.

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