The Heat Of Human Gravity Poem by Lowe Loup
The Heat Of Human Gravity
Our trysts
are razor blade martinis
half drunk and
olive-juice full.
How could I grudge you?
You say that I’m brilliant-
that I can separate affection
and emotion. You with your one-
lipped kiss; strands of light
bending round your head.
speaking of improbabilities,
following an associative spiral.
In the basement
of a January night,
Every person needs
a warm body.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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2/28/2026 1:23:12 AM # 1.0.0
