Clovers

The way we cloned our love. Clovers laid beneath lovers. Each over the other in green slumber. Washed our clothes in the tide. Rode our bikes all the way home in the rain. The meaning exchanged in a glance. A drink from one another’s souls. Records we tacked up against the wall because we liked the covers. Smashed heads on behalf of the Lord. Menus ripped and torn and eaten in place of actual food. You could have and should have smothered me. In white sauce. In bread stolen from Parisian streets. Baguettes used in sword fights on rooftops with weathervanes. Punctured roosters crowing their life out, red on the streets as the sun rose. Blood dripping down gutters and cobblestones. The dogs who undressed our DNA. The way last Wednesday went. The way we were before we met. I don’t even remember.