To say you love, but require change
is so deeply fishy.
To mold the nature of your love
as if her soul were squishy.
Suspect Alterations [Common Meter]
Reply
Wandering through a new city,
I come upon a bridge:
its rails loaded with locks.
They call them "love locks."
It gets me wondering how many locks
long outlived the love they memorialized?
How many were lust locks --
linked to the bridge before
the couple really knew each other's
vexing peccadillos?
How many were like ill-advised back tattoos,
a lover's name - someone one met in Vegas -
and whose name one wouldn't
otherwise remember,
were it not inked across one's spine
in a 120-point flame-festooned font?
What tears away in leaving,
when one has grown into:
- a person?
- a place?
Can one grow into someone
(or somewhere) such that
one is fused in a way that
won't allow separation
without leaving a sacrifice?
Maybe one can't help but be
webbed into some wider world,
and can't help but leave
pieces of oneself littering the Earth.
I know nothing
of the sea-bottom,
or of the darkest void.
I know nothing
of the ancients' lives
or how most are employed.
I know nothing
of an atom's look,
or how works, gravity.
I know nothing
inside my organs
or nasal cavity.
I can but know
these simple truths
that live within my mind.
That it's better
being together, and
to err toward being kind.
Your river is a tributary. My river is a tributary, merging & flowing to a sea. I feel your molecules, floating past my own, intermingling & in some way tingling: a jangled excitation. And, [at the sea] we will be, together & [at the sea] we will be together. I no longer worry that I'm a river with no name -- an anonymous tributary -- because every sea has many names.
Iranian Love Stories by Jane Deuxard
Symposium by Plato
Lysis by Plato