Love Poem To Myself

after Jack Underwood

your hair continues to surprise me in its texture after every single wash / like the shock of a photocopier lid realising the other side when it beams white light / I could listen to you listing your banned foods for days / and tell you bad jokes about music as the food of love for even longer / if I pause to consider how long it takes nurses to find your veins / I too blush with warm pride and joy / your ears are unremarkable / and therefore impossible to improve / when I chance upon your face in the curvature of a kettle I am overcome by the urge to blow you kisses / as if we are both tethered to the ground / but neither of us want to take off