Love?

In Praise of Imperfect Love

Courtesans of tenth century Japan knew
the keening of the caged copper pheasant,
solo double-note aria for a missing mate,
could be silenced with a mirror

The ideal of a love that completes
masks a yearning for homeostasis,
a second umbilical, island fever,
harmony tighter than unison —

dull as a solved equation;
like the ex-lover who said,
"Being with you is like being alone."
He meant it as a compliment.


I like this poem because it bespeaks of all the expectations and realizations of love. It is more joyful and painful than any other feeling.

This IS it.

What was that look we shared lat night? In the dark I could feel your eyes wash over me. I searched your face in return. But a new feeling blossomed in my dark soul as the glints of blue and sparkles rained down on me. It made my stomach queasy and strange and my heart race to express what words could not. It was a love, stronger than I have guessed I was ever capable of feeling, wrapping it's soft hands around my heart- never to let go.

You're a prodigy in scoodlydy- doo!