Spell me the truth about love
this
word is bored stiff with its letters they’re
too few too soiled they’re
poetically mauled they’re
inane so kitsch they’re
tabloid diminished they’re
finished these
poor letters four
letters they
ration the passion they’re
too fey for
the heart of a life for
the glue between lust and
absolute trust for
lighting the blindspots in family
barnies and longstanding friendship – there’s
a big word at stake here (this
one couldn’t be flakier)
please
alphabet - deal it out better - for
the word that casts us as
its debtors Liz
Callingham
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