I sent no flurry of love poems.
My hands shake,
and my arrow kisses dirt.
Two chain collars
biting my wrists.
I can be so unloving.

I once snuck in the classroom
and threw a piggy bank.
The ceramic death
gave me a hit of life
from some lifeless abode
beneath the skin.

I once blundered from your car
during Valentine's week,
after my hands dropped us
like a dying pig.
There was no cut of life
across that sorrow.
I would crawl back.

I once kissed you,
and the arrow's lodged.
My hands will shake, a curse
older than us both, yet still
I will be so loving.