Valentine Message

"Lovers" (2008) by Hans-Peter Feldmann

I offer you my heart (of a cabbage).

Not red, nor pink;

It’s a throbbing purple, that glorious bruise.

Layer upon layer of crinkled curled corners;

Peel it gently or it will crack and split.

Soak it in warm water to loosen its edges.

I offer you my heart (of a cabbage).

Not sweet like chocolate, nor perfumed like the rose;

It can become musty if over-cooked.

Simmer gently.

I offer you my heart (of a cabbage).

Eat it.

Love is sublime. Fear, terror, wonder combine; pleasure and pain are experienced in equal measure.

“ … if you listen to the complaints of a forsaken lover, you observe that he insists largely on the pleasures which he enjoyed, or hoped to enjoy, and on the perfection of the object of his desires: it is the loss which is always uppermost in his mind …” {Edmund Burke, on ‘the sublime’}

You turn away. Forgetting. Anamnesis. A guarded look. I am transparent; you look through me to view the next lover. I am a blank memory. All caresses fade from feeling. Arms are left empty. A butterfly kiss lingers on the skin. A tear. A puddle. Jump in and drown.

Smooth away the creases, and start to breath again. A dull, numb ache. A space, a void. Your shadow floats in and away from my mind. Take your love song. Your deep eyes. Turn away, you are merely a distraction.  I write … write … write; black and white sit so well together. Complementing. No tussle. Pain. A silent juxtaposition. Screw you.

I wait.    

“The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.”

{Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments}

Red is everywhere. Clinging, thrusting, jesting, screaming in my face.

Red, the palette of passion;

Pink, the glittering frivolous twinkle in loved-up girl’s skip.

‘Take care of yourself’, he wrote.

"Take Care of Yourself" (2007) by Sophie Calle

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