Orion finds another love poem in his belt loop


The three sisters have placed it there, 
fighting over him again. Good heavens, 

but he’s confuzzled, puzzled by all 
this shine. Tomorrow they will Braille 

him sweet nothings in the stars; stitch him
a swooning moon of Venus, a Valentine

of Mars. Ursa (major, minor) won’t loan him 
a pen, so here he stands, with no reply again. 

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