The elements of desire are legion
Too many to embrace even infinity's catalog.
They leap out like perversion
They hide away like sweet memories
With some passion and some pain
With attraction and revulsion
All beloved in some way.
All defy clarity's definition.
The merely physical, in time, takes a backseat.
The score becomes a memory
Where the textures, the smells,
The sounds – oh, the sounds, so soft
And whispering, what did they say? –
Even lovemaking was mere apophasis
To distract from the frontal assault, of course.
We wanted to be friends true.
We all did. Making love?
Well, that was just amative handshaking.
We did it with enthusiasm, but it was a potion
To help us forget the pain and sorrow
Of a buyer's market where what we wanted to sell
Was often more than the buyer wanted to buy.
Oh, perfidious imposters, how beautiful you were!
But lovelife, ah, that was a coin hard to cash.
The word, beloved, haunted all of us as we groped
Through our innocent laughter and hoped,
Learning that hate comes with love sometimes
And then finally, finally,
That love comes in hate as well.
That was a lesson of love, believe me.
Polish the stone, he said, and you may find a gem.
In love, emotions rule. It's the only language scribbled
In love's lucubrations.
Screaming helps, but does not impel.
So, now, decades are the measure, not just days.
In that long endlessly receding mirror images abound.
So many to choose from.
There emerges a mosaic,
Many times compounded:
A sense of what is, what will be,
And, oh yes, what will never be.
Love will have its day.
Love will always have its way.

02/14/2009

Posted on 07/30/2009
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