A POEM: Love (from an Architect)

The houses are tall people knock-kneed with

Nervousness because

Of the dinner dates they long to go on.

They carry roses in their thick arms.

Wear red tiled hats. And

Stand very still

Hoping that the world will

Stop noticing them.


The only sort of notice they want is

The sort that comes handwritten,

And signed with an



The sort that come posted straight through the numbered grill

Of a hesitant and pounding heart.


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