Gut Check

by Chris Callard

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.
Someone wrote that long ago.
Don’t know how many numbers she settled on.
Me? I’m bad at math.
My gut, though, tells me infinity.
But calculations don’t matter when
you’re whispering in bed.
Sums are something far back in your mind
while the sensational carousel spins and dizzys,
laughs and pleads, and somehow strangely succeeds.
How do I love you?
So very distinctly, with so many days ahead.

🩷🩷🩷