Bloody Valentine by Nathan Evans
February fourteenth.
Exterior. Florists.
Like pigeons round a crust
To buy some sanctioned love,
Without dirt, without root,
That’ll be dead in a week.
Love is more bindweed than roses -
Growing from groin to gut
Then up, up,
Heart, throat,
Malignant,
To wrap itself and wrap itself inside your thoughts.
And however much you tear it down
There’s always a tendril
Or a bloody stain.
However much you tear it up
There’s always a root
And another bloody shoot.
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