Varicose love is an ugly thing.
Builds quietly beneath the surface,
a city of tunnels, rotten subways stations.
Beneath the skin,
the rumblings, the hint,
the veins tearing apart: tectonic & volcanic.
A disaster to erupt, blossom, flower buds.
Varicose love aches.
Becoming doctors’ waiting rooms, stretch mark
medication (does nothing but crush & crack
vanity). Mirrors, mini skirts, men
all surveying with clipboard-gazes
knowing that your varicose love
is a heartbeat away from an aneurysm.