The Singular Plural

Life in smithereens, the studio rental
crooning the acoustics of loneliness.
Blame genetics: no way could I master
the mechanics of dating, the politics
of romance, the logistics of sexual
physics. But I yearned to be in cahoots
with someone. First date, full of jitters,
trying to decide what clothes
to wear, putting my pants on one scissors-
kick at a time, glasses new and cool . . .
it was all shenanigans, this suffering
the semantics of desire. Until now,
the good news. Thanks, my love,
for enduring my poetics, for making
the singular plural.