I want to write about love:
On the fluttering of the heart
With the touch of a lover’s tear
And the tear at their core
With a lover’s whisper,
their grief for more time,
Mourned on a lover’s tongue
to a lover’s ear,
Held in cupped hands
And offered before God
In a prayer.
I want to write about love:
On the heart’s invisible furies,
Viraled lungs and loose heartstrings
Aches for things not done
Palpable in the silence
punctured with the war cry
Of a cavalry come to save them
Where they lie.
Beeping monitors. Heaving respirators. Tired doctors.
I want to write about love:
The wandering that comes thereafter
And yearning, known with age—
A face you can’t quite place,
the touch of their eyes
Lost
in the lies of moving on; of hurt recent others;
in the touch of time.
I want to write about love:
It dies.
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