I love you nothing like the grapes that love their stem and the holes

with brown death creeping round their nonexistent corners.

I love you nothing like the grapes

that peel themselves.

I love you nothing like these words that refuse to write themselves

love the reader,

and the reader who loves the words

that write others words.

I love you nothing like an cat loves the sun,

a shoulder, thigh, or an almost empty hand-me-down

can of tuna.

I love you nothing like the moon loves itself

and how the lakes are even stilled

so she can stare all night at her beauty before

the light of day shows the craters beneath her eyes.

I love you nothing like anything.

Because I love nothing.

and I love you.