Love in the Time of Corona

{submission}

My love, spring fills me with antipathy.

It snows in March and Paris is a void;

The land of lovers it may as well be:

My lover’s in San Fran.

My love, I dream of nights with you, your scent

A tickle in my ear— a hug. Your talk

Embracing solitude—a chill.

The heater rumbles here.

My love, the news tells me to fear your touch.

My boss tells me to work from home. I laugh.

To fear the one I love (yes, love)! To call

This fucking place a home!

My love, don’t think that I’m at home.

At fucking Fairmont, I am not at home!

I sit, too scared for room service, too scarred

By this bed’s history.

My love, I’m bored almost to death. I’ve tried 

To read those books you like: Dante

Is not so fun without your voice to hear.

It’s too familiar now.

My love, you write so beautifully when you’re hurt.

I hurt, so I am in my underwear. 

I drink red wine until it’s blood and stains

My sober thoughts: I’m dead!