The First Taste

How do I tell you I love you?  What language do you understand?

I’d speak it to you if only I knew.

I know it’s absurd,

unheard of.

I know it’s pathetic,

this silly rhetoric

How do I tell you I love you when you’re so far away from me now?

You’re gone, baby.  

I don’t know if you’ll ever be back.  

And these declarations of love I want to give to you seem like pathetic attempts at holding you.

I don’t want to hold you.

I can’t hold you.

You wouldn’t let me if I tried.

I wouldn’t want you if I did.

Love is never holding. 

Love is a release.

It’s a letting go, 

a protrusion,

never an intrusion

but often a recess.

I’d be your recess.  

I’d be your place to lay down when the road got too weary.  

I’d be your pot of soup on a cold, dark winters night.  

—————————————————————————————————————————– 

I did not struggle in your web.

It was always my aim to get caught. 

 

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