My Love For You by Peter Davis


First you feel a sort of nagging in your knees,
like a curly bug is crawling up your leg.
Before you can swipe it away, it’s gone, cast backward
into the wind like the look on Lot’s wife’s face.
Speaking of salt, my love jumps through
the flavor of your dinner and impresses you
with the tanginess of sorrow.
When you want to open up and swallow,
it turns out you can’t connect the food to your pie-hole.
Everyone’s pie-hole is someplace different.
For instance, mine is in my hand and when I
wave I’m showing the world where I
load the insides. During a handshake, my lips
are closed but the moment I let go, they open
into a scream that sounds a lot like a tired
vacuum cleaner. I wish my love were better
but it’s worse. I’m like a prince who turns
into a frog. Or, rather, like a prince who
isn’t a prince or a frog, just some local hick
who’s finally come around to the big cities
of Shit Sucks and O Fuck. Where the national
anthem is “I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up.”


PETER DAVIS’ books of poetry are Hitler’s Mustache, Poetry! Poetry! Poetry!, and TINA. More info at