Kevin Varrone Poem

OK, so far, it seems what I like about a poem is that it's short, in English, and sexy in a non-slutty way. Sensuous, I guess you'd call it. And I like poems about love. 

I hate love. 

When I am in what I frequently mistake for love, I write all kinda of poems. And I think they're good, too, because they make me feel like I'm sitting on a peach and soaking in the juice.  But I haven't written a love poem in a long, long time. Not since 2008. Ugh, I know exactly who he is and he is worse for me than rotten teeth, but when I get to thinking about his skin, spread like dark loam over bone and sinew...don't tell him, but a tiny part of me is still holding out for a meaningless romp with him. 

Wait, what? This is for school. Loins be still.

Today's poem is by Kevin Varrone.

poem I wrote sitting across the table from you

if I had two nickels to rub together
I would rub them together

like a kid rubs sticks together
until friction made combustion

and they burned

a hole in my pocket

into which I would put my hand
and then my arm

and eventually my whole self–– 
I would fold myself

into the hole in my pocket and disappear

into the pocket of myself, or at least my pants

but before I did

like some ancient star

I’d grab your hand 


Now, I don't know the ins and outs of why this is a poem. I don't know if it meters, why he broke the lines the way he did, and all that. But I like the image of a man reaching through a burned hole in his pocket to disappear and then grabbing his woman's hand right before he did.