these love poems

make me a fool—

supposedly.

you, the scientist

you don a white coat

but that laboratory:

isn’t it cold?

you,

your controls—

me,

no choice

but to let go.

who is the fool?

this love of ours—

its flame

burns textbooks.

i’ll set fire to every library.

for without this love:

there’s no knowing.

yeah, without this love

i know nothing.

no love, no truth—

know love, know truth.