Framed by animal sounds—”Meow” at the opening, “Bow Wow” at the close—this poem reads like a field guide to the body language of attraction. Plahm approaches his subject with the attentiveness of a naturalist, documenting each small signal: dimpled knees, freckled toes, a “winking elbow,” a thumb that “waves a secret hello.” The beloved is rendered not as a static portrait but as a constellation of movements and micro-tells. There’s genuine observational wit here: the temple that “hums with welcome,” the earlobe that “perks when I joke,” the eyebrow that “lifts with critique,” the little finger that “quivers” with “feigned disinterest.” The poem builds toward its thesis: that love communicates through a “hidden, quiet, subtle symphony”—all those involuntary responses the body makes before the mind can censor them. The dynamic between the two figures is playful and reciprocal: she evades, he notices; she purrs, he watches. The closing “What a flirt. Bow Wow” perfectly matches the opening “Meow,” creating a call-and-response between two creatures circling each other in the eternal dance. It’s a poem that celebrates the erotic charge of the almost-touch, the not-quite-said.

“Cuteness” is delightful in its specificity. Where many love poems content themselves with generalities (eyes, lips, hands), Plahm goes granular: dimpled knees, freckled toes, a quivering little finger, a perking earlobe. This attention to anatomical detail creates a portrait that feels genuinely observed rather than conventionally imagined. The animal-sound frame (“Meow” / “Bow Wow”) is a smart structural choice, establishing the poem’s playful register and suggesting that flirtation operates at a preverbal, almost instinctual level. The catalogue structure suits the content—accumulating details until they coalesce into the “symphony” of the penultimate stanza. A few images land with particular force: “Your thumb waves a secret hello” and “The little finger quivers / feigned disinterest” capture something true about how attraction telegraphs itself through minor movements. If there’s a limitation, it’s that the poem stays consistently light; it doesn’t risk the tonal shifts that might make it more surprising. But that’s also its charm—this is a poem that knows exactly what it wants to be: a tender, slightly goofy appreciation of the body’s unspoken eloquence. In the collection’s emotional landscape, it provides welcome levity.