love in the time of COVID is no different than
love at any other time: that is, full of loneliness. Only more so. Pre-COVID, there were possibilities:
clandestine meetings at Trader Joe’s, Fisk’s Jubilee Singers’ Balm in Gilead at Tuesdays’ pancake suppers.
All attempted All for naught. Post-COVID, love will still be a hungry disciple with her wimple being what it always
was; her overcoat continuing to thin in all the places it was already thinning; her outline identical to that surrounding
a bloodhound, run over. And even that outline will dissolve. Some say that among COVID’s symptoms are a loss of
taste, a loss of smell. And the love loss during this COVID- without-end emits the stink of Valentine’s remains stashed
in reliquaries, a bitter taste of beetroot laid on his holy table. | 
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