Pining Pinned In Plural Orangepinks

by Christos Polydorou

Wrap me up
in the colour red;

Deposit me on the doorstep
of a theatre;

seepless, sleepless nights;
bullied at 35;

please save me.
It won’t take much, baby.

I will thank you with a poem.
A joyful one.

Take my hand.
Slide down the slide of the sky

which romantics call Gravity.
The way I feel is so real.

I wish I could express myself
more poignantly

but love is always a risk,
a mistake,

when you looked into my eyes,
let go of my hand,

and kissed me:
I wasn’t there!

take a bow!

You are wrapped in red.
You are on stage.

Fucking up love again.
Love is so serious.

But dear,
her eyes are the blue

of shy jays.
In summer,

we skipped hand in hand
through the forest

both in frilly dresses and paisley.
She said I can only love

you if you are dressed as a girl.
I threw my math homework into the fire.

We lasted three months,
Katherine and I.

I saw on Facebook she is married to a lady
in Palm Springs.

As for love, where thou art?
Less red,

less blue,
radiant orangepinks

and petals of
English roses

now symbolise
my heart:

Let’s (again) start.