What is Love?

You say my name and

my heart spins wildly

out of control, but don’t flatter yourself. That

could mean anything.

What is love but a

series of cheap parlor tricks:

A saw that cuts me in half

and yet I remain whole.

A word wrapped in chains and

thrown into the pool, the key

in your hand and yet

somehow unlocks and

I swim to the surface.

A knife thrown from

50 paces that

pierces but never kills.

A 5 of clubs pulled from the deck

again and again even

as I scrutinize your hands and

don’t see anything up your sleeve.