From Pascale Petit's Poetry From Art Course
Think of blossoming. There’s the closed bride door
and no escape when you cast shadows –
a locked canon. I don’t love you
appears costumed in a Greek toga.
The true Milky Way floats
between their soul-tongues and uniform.
We hunt for a bottle of Benedictine
but it’s still love three times three,
at different angles with the lights on in the cemetery.