Armine Iknadossian: Love Poem

A black comb of words
to hold in your hand,
a semantic romance, a roman à clef,
a myth to deconstruct.

This poem you want
needs a bit of irony, needs to bleed
from the ears. There are many stones
to haul from the quarry, to lay before your feet.
Unless you want something spoon fed.

No, you want lines that swoon
in front of your lashes
like a thousand oars dipping into the sea.
This poem must remove all your splinters

while standing on its head,
must guide your eyes,
bluer than the grottos of Capri,
down its narrow alleys.
Trust that it won’t cut you open. Yes,

this is like gross anatomy.
I am naming all my inhibitions
while you peer over my shoulder,
one by one I am handing you my bones.



Copyright Armine Iknadossian.
Used here by kind permission of the author.