Love Poem

When a husband drowns a wife
or a wife fatally submerges a husband
in the koi pond
of the courtyard of their haunted villa,
isn’t that glamorous?
Why, it’s almost kosher.
It’s not quite as poetic
as dying under the snow,
but still. It gives one pause.
It gives one pause and jealousy.
One gets angry at one’s love.
One looks around for some koi,
some moonlight and some fatality.
There is only a pile of bills.
And a boring knife.
No way, sans mise-en-scene.
Without a poetic means to end your life,
I sentence you to live.