Hypochondriac

By
When I heard your name
whispered from the wheezing
lips of my tea kettle I knew
I was in love.

I fled to the hospital and
found a doctor who felt
the formation of my
frontal lobe, caressed my
cranium, and examined
my epidermis, before
stepping back and shaking
his head “No,” he said,
“not love,
you’re incapable of that.”





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