I Tend to Think Love Should Feel Like ’90s R&B

with bump & grind bass lines and dancing dudes in harmony

serenading in the rain or inside a car heading to a house party

and there are always choreographed men melodiously singing

underneath manufactured precipitation during music videos

as lyrics evolve into questions of staying or going, answers 

of lusting or listening, or cycles of begging please for chances 

to upcycle pleas into pleasure. Each refrain outlines things

too precious to be willingly given up to the familiar charade 

of love. Like a one-hit wonder hustling for years to become 

a celebrity overnight, I have paid my dues in this dead-end 

job, drowning my desires long ago in a sea of millions, still 

wearing wet clothes & holding freshly bought apology roses 

blanket-wrapped with tissue paper & I have emerged from 

this synthetic euphoria we label as love thoroughly soaked,

with a heart rotting at its edges & speaking of the heart, 

I want most what it wants until it decides what it wants 

is not meant to be. Sometimes, sex becomes a weapon

& then not. Or a mirror, wherein I reflect on my faults 

next to someone else who appears flawless & then not. 

I am yammering on about the inevitability of a breakup—

how a door gets deadbolted one night & you never hear 

their key lovingly unlock it again. The coffee mug left 

behind with a partner’s indelible lipstick stains on its rim 

& the stolen smile gone missing after the first argument 

that first evening in the first shared apartment & all the 

strings of memory braided to craft a leash that tethers me 

to the misery of the past. What I meant to mention about 

perfectly coifed ’90s guys and their synchronized gyrations 

in the drizzle is that love taunts me with a redemption 

I cannot touch or teach, while it shows me what sins 

water can rinse away & what of myself I might witness 

in the wake of that cleansing. Redemption, like a woman 

pulling her hair back into a makeshift ponytail, ready to fight 

for a lowlife who is not worth fighting for. Redemption, 

that lady later wandering into the arms of another, who 

rescues her from a home ransacked by a man’s temper. 

Redemption, the city tracing its cold & ample indifference 

over my skin in the way only a city can when it opens itself 

like a wound & waits for darkness to pour into the exposed 

cut & I, too, wait for the night to spill itself into echoing 

terraces & call me outside into the storm to confess it is 

almost my turn. It is almost the season of my favorite 

ballad on repeat & its burial ground of lifeless passion 

resurrected by a catchy and exploding rhythm & how 

all those ooh baby, yeah ad-libs exist for me & no one 

else until the song slowly fades out to silence, again.

 

Adrian Potter lives in Minnesota on the traditional, ancestral, and contemporary lands of the Dakota people. His work has appeared in more than three hundred literary journals. Potter has authored four collections of poetry, prose, and hybrid work, including The Blues Handbook (Thirty West Publishing, 2025) as well as And the Monster Swallows You Whole (Stillhouse Press, 2023).