← v21n2, Fall 2022
Poetry · Volume 21, Number 2

Platonic Love

I do my best to tolerate it because

unspent love is poison.

Sometimes, when I go in

for hugs on friends

I’m mad at,

I think

I can quantify love

at every place

it’s not shown,

wrap my arms

around and close

to a quiet crush of their bones,

a smooth break of vessels,

the rush of blood

where the skin splits

leaked into mugs and bowls,

and that perhaps,

I could tear my friend in two,

shake his halves loose,

drippings dropped

from the entrails as dirt

from plant roots.