rigid delta
*Your blush-box cheeks, blindfolding wrappers
shrouded in clinging kraft paper,
cardboard clattering, stiff.
Cheap words, cleaned and cut by machine,
crisp printing, glazed and sugary-sweet—
what sort is it?
guess.
A crackle of soft sentiments,
tied in a pink, prim, girlish bow
you place precise into my hands.
Know it.
Unfold what you’ve been given.
Ribbons wrapped, restraining recognition,
seams set for you to read between.
Guess what I bought—plain, ornate pink,
hearts coded close down the box’s spine,
your name fixed firm, a test line.
Looking, all I see are my lips,
tender, ticking open, sealing shut,
sniffing the small seams for a clue.
An inverted cone, a simple thing:
sprinkles, sheen, dark cap of chocolate.
Simple thing, isn’t it?
Don’t mind it. It is fine.
Only a gift, an afterthought.
You don’t have to get it.
Still, I hold it in my palms,
blessed by the brush of your hands,
dry, cold against warmth—
and so is your smile,
still trying to figure it out:
a Valentine gift.*
digital crater
oblique gale
hexed sierra