gobbled by the oozing microbes

of ennui and doubt that

grow in the quiet space between us

I squander another evening

watching this week's "all new episode"

when will I learn that Love—

as true as she is—

lingers not in pixels and transistors

nor forces my choice

to water and cultivate her

no  wonder my lover's touch
seems listless or lost

like her refrain--hi good-lookin—

her dry eyes don't sparkle

her lips not eager

where have you flown cupid

not even one week past valentines?

02/20/2003