In Love, In Poetry
I asked you: do I dare disturb the universe?
Do I move my elbow to make my point
where the end stop should be? Do I leave the door just a smidge ajar?
You said: okay!
to all of these things. Did you know what you were agreeing to?
At first
We united over our love for the same semi-confessional poet,
The same foolhardy woman with hair dubious in her eyes,
the same kindred spirit bore to crash on the stars.
I brushed the strands away from yours
so you could see mine more clearly.
These were pale fires, caught up in yearning.
Nabokov could not word it more dearly.
When we sat on the steps outside the library to listen in on
the aged master of words making his claims,
announcing his findings before the masses that had gathered
you put your hands in mine and kept them there.
Do I dare. Do I dare. I don't dare.
When we had the chance, I moved in closer
Made my delicate steps across the wasting land.
For even as I held you in the ropes of my bed
I knew you were a dancer that I would lose to the pull of the sand.
I'd say be my Dido… but then,
We all know that how that ended, so.
I do not want to destroy your Carthage. I do not want to lay pillage
To any part of you. The need to protect is so much stronger.
Do I dare? No.
Our union is ending. The troops depart.
I fear you when I come back at night. There are two paths and I took the one I shouldn't have. I fear you turning me into Ted Hughes when I have never eyed another woman but you, I fear you stuffing the towels under our children's doors. I fear you suffocating for the sake of your imploded heart.
These moments come and go like a nuclear flash.
When my eyes open again, we are only sitting children on the library's stair.
I am still holding your warmed hand.
And then I ask, Edna St. Vincent Millay
What lips these lips
Could kiss…
They would only be yours.
I don't dare.
- April 2010
(some boy totally misread this and told me I have gender issues. IT WAS AN EXPERIMENT.)
Do I move my elbow to make my point
where the end stop should be? Do I leave the door just a smidge ajar?
You said: okay!
to all of these things. Did you know what you were agreeing to?
At first
We united over our love for the same semi-confessional poet,
The same foolhardy woman with hair dubious in her eyes,
the same kindred spirit bore to crash on the stars.
I brushed the strands away from yours
so you could see mine more clearly.
These were pale fires, caught up in yearning.
Nabokov could not word it more dearly.
When we sat on the steps outside the library to listen in on
the aged master of words making his claims,
announcing his findings before the masses that had gathered
you put your hands in mine and kept them there.
Do I dare. Do I dare. I don't dare.
When we had the chance, I moved in closer
Made my delicate steps across the wasting land.
For even as I held you in the ropes of my bed
I knew you were a dancer that I would lose to the pull of the sand.
I'd say be my Dido… but then,
We all know that how that ended, so.
I do not want to destroy your Carthage. I do not want to lay pillage
To any part of you. The need to protect is so much stronger.
Do I dare? No.
Our union is ending. The troops depart.
I fear you when I come back at night. There are two paths and I took the one I shouldn't have. I fear you turning me into Ted Hughes when I have never eyed another woman but you, I fear you stuffing the towels under our children's doors. I fear you suffocating for the sake of your imploded heart.
These moments come and go like a nuclear flash.
When my eyes open again, we are only sitting children on the library's stair.
I am still holding your warmed hand.
And then I ask, Edna St. Vincent Millay
What lips these lips
Could kiss…
They would only be yours.
I don't dare.
- April 2010
(some boy totally misread this and told me I have gender issues. IT WAS AN EXPERIMENT.)
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