This is not love poetry, this is love poetry like you've never read before. . . . Jane has tangerine's for breasts but none of her / boyfriends cared. they were all equipped / with tongue beaten insults and busy weekends planted with / strange girls. and Jane / had only adjectives and pianist fingers. / none of them took the time to / rope the moon for her, for a nightlight in a dark room of insecure dreams. / none of them opened doors for her, to watch a beautiful / girl walk in front of them every time. / none of them cared about her stretch marks or green / eyes or colored hair. . . .