Your Love
Give it to me in a hard-shell taco,
deliver it in a dumb waiter,
slide it into my mouth with your fingers,
wrap it in non-biodegradable plastic,
make it microwaveable, high caloric
and easy to eat.
Sometimes I like it more
as a fine-dining experience,
with a tablecloth and linen napkins.
First come cocktails, then
the courses with fancy foreign names,
smothered in hard-to-make sauces,
whose flavors are complex if costly,
when I feel the added pleasure
is worth the price.
But usually I just like it on a bun,
American style,
with relish and hot sauce.
No surprises, but therefore no disappointments.
And hours later, when I’m on the subway,
I can still taste it on my lips.
Jeremy Freedman lives in in New York City, where he writes poems and takes photographs. His poems have been published by Unique Poetry Journal, Dispatches from the Poetry Wars, Anti-Heroin Chic, Pioneertown, Lillet Press, and many others. He is the author of two chapbooks: “Apophenia” (Finishing Line Press, 2018) and “Douchebag Sonnets” (Bullshit Lit, 2022). His photographs have been exhibited in Europe and the United States and have been featured in numerous journals. More work can be seen at jfreenyc.com and on Instagram @jfreenyc.