Mule Heart
We need a word for love that is now grief, Which refuses to collect dust in the glare and Lively clatter of the heart; Love of what was, that still is Because stillness is precisely the puzzle For our grinding, mule hearts — Heart like a catchment basin filling To overflow then recede in accordance with the seasons — Yet the heart is a walking vessel in search of rain — Over and over we bolt from the discomfort of our Agitated, unrestrained thirst that manages to Eclipse us every time. Here it is, the skinned and meaty crux: Love guides us...
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Am I to desire you, lover, who teaches non-attachment? I am tsunami; with violence and duration My petitions, as in wave shoaling, heighten to break in fists And sea spray upon your coastline. Am I to desire you, lover, who speaks of immaterial love? Alone, to embrace these long, lilac dusk shadows? When your mouth is tropical water, a sleepy harbor Of honeysuckle skin and halcyon limbs. Am I to desire you, lover, who spins parables of reason? You persuade me that need is only the howling infant, With softness you cradle my angry wet face With patience you crouch at the perimeter of this...
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