Dear Cupid,
How fortunate I am that your arrow–
which would otherwise rip caverns
through obsidian–met the other end
of my heart with so little as a keyhole.
How blessed I am that my love now seeps to the sound of a soothing pulse.
In sync with honey swimming over a rounded edge in lazy drizzles.
Carrying warmth as it flows past an ivory crib cradling breath.
But, oh, dear Cupid,
how cursed you made me when
my love finally reached the fence
of another's heart, and bounced back
not in the way
that a calm lake reflects the sun's smile,
but as if my affection were a stone
returned to shore by crashing waves,
reminding sand of the border between land and sea.
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