Lisa writes him love notes
in her very best penmanship.

He attends her for beer
and games on her widescreen TV.

Her idea of love does not include
religious handcuffs.

His idea of love
boxes all of her sex toys.

Lisa thinks to inflame his heart
through a home cooked meal.

He thinks to bring a bag of ice
to use as a pillow.

He asks if Lisa’s parachute
is a shiny golden hue.

She owns no nylon, no silk,
only an old pair of high-jump shoes.

His vague love of unconnected half circles
sips from the cup of martyrs.

Lisa suffers the wrench
of a rusted bolt snapped in two.