This isn’t a love poem.
I’m not going to tell you I miss you
or that thing that you do with your eyebrows.
I won’t say you gave my heart cavities
because that would be sentimental
and untrue besides
because the heart doesn’t react that way to sugar,
You were like eating a chocolate bar every day
and I became fat, and it was good.
But then I replaced you with diabetes-friendly chocolate
or amputee animal crackers with missing limbs
or even worse, vegan carob chips
because even vegans don’t really want to be vegans.
I went to the grocery store to buy eighteen bars
of “endangered-species chocolate,”
you know, the ones with rare animals on the labels
like they’re collectibles or something
because it seemed like an Eco-friendly thing to do
and you were always way too into the environment.
I tried to make it last,
but even a kilo-of-chocolate hangover
didn’t mean I was thinking about you or anything.
But again, this isn’t a love poem.
What I’m trying to say is: I’m hungry.
And we will always have Paris,
even though we’ve never been to Paris.