Quick – before our mouths turn themselves in,
saying We Have Kissed and Seen Lights
You Can Only Dream Of, saying, This Sort of Love
Is Written About, But Rarely Felt, a Poet’s Paradise.
Saying, I Do before Will You? is asked.
Let us make this promise.

Quick – before the betrayal of our happy countenance ,
let us agree that we need no approval but our own.
Not the hypocritical father, not the mother
who vacations in the psych ward.
You are my mirror, my looking-glass.
We walk with our heads above the pollution
of the city, the naysayers, cautious cobwebs.
Our world is not their world. Our love
is not their love.

Our children will be Indigo Children: babies born
in Spirit connection; our home will invent a new
Feng Shui. They’ll name a constellation
after us; the stars will form two lovers united after
many years and the children of the world
will lean out their windows to get a look, wish upon
with all their might, star light, star bright,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
thank you for granting the wish I made upon
every star I ever saw. For the gravitational pull
to draw us together. Paintings modeled after us.

Quick – before we shout it all out, let us not worry
what others think. They would be too stunned,
the light too bright, the idea of our love
too ancient to move forward. Quick – let’s
seal this deal with a kiss, my lover,
my friend, my piece of heaven.

02/05/2008

Posted on 02/05/2008
Copyright © 2026 Lisa Marie Brodsky