it isn’t enough to take,
in some wagering sense, I must be devastated. the pain of the iron, what I can’t
defer to, a sage might ask for emotion. so close at his door, flashlights
peering in, a man on the floor. many ripples go through him, lightbulbs
shattering, a man must record his obituary. to love like adoring, to know what
love is, to offer me a proper definition; where I might understand, I might
feel intensely, this thing with wings. love isn’t static, concrete, a
universal, have I made it clear? it changes from mind-to-mind, its arithmetic
is unsteady, it flits in its moods. it isn’t enough to take, in some asphalt
sense, I must be destroyed. a
person is an affair, inside self, outside of spheres, in some fantasy—most daily.
the dream of a terrific soul,
some angel specialized at loving us—this is all the soul wishes for. the skies are dusky at night. I sit
for a moment in others. I look right, left, I become concerned. there’s a secret, most do not see, if
I think of it—my spouse thinks of it too. no time for virtue, the clock is
ticking, I’m losing luster. a need to be spotless, to feel complete, to unzip,
unveil, reserve a spot in eternity.
love is defensive, or
comfortable, it takes theatrics to seduce it. we’ve seen it all, so we need
emotion, the tetherball wraps around its pole. it’s not enough to take, the one must
be devastated, else the project is a flop. love isn’t an axiom, some guaranteed
aphorism, some truth never could it fail. if one knew the secret, to two made monogamous,
the powers they share, most would go mad before violating the union.
