Lovers make themselves larger cages.
We, for instance,
Followed quiet roads, to kiss,
To find a place to hide our homeless love
From eyes across the way, or tall windows above.
We took paths we hadn’t taken before,
But found every inch accounted for,
Private or public. The nowhere we sought,
In perfect anonymity, did not exist.
Then we would have really kissed.
But we shouldn’t have been doing this.
Afraid we would get caught:
Anonymity could not be bought.
Visibility and knowledge get inside your head.
We sometimes felt that we were dead.
Today I passed a little side route view
I once took secretly with you.
It didn’t lead to anything new.
Just more civilization. Us, looking around,
Thinking our paradise would never be found.
We were working slaves, stuck in the city.
Profound, the love, but our busy environs were too witty,
Too full of others: a tourist pondering behind a gravestone—
We thought the beautiful old cemetery would find us alone.
A small road would look promising and quiet,
But soon would end up in a riot.
The one thing urban planning misses—
Fortresses for forbidden kisses.
From a parking lot, or the latest rural fair,
We’d look at the moon, and wish we were there—
Though on the moon you can’t breathe.
One quick kiss, and then we’d leave.
Once, under a tree, by a fallen log,
At night, someone came walking their dog.
Once, in a building where no one should have been,
A janitor came to clean.
We wanted to kiss each other so bad.
The non-kissing world drove us mad.
Every fence, path, and stumbling walk
Contained private or public folk,
Who belonged to the world more than we.
They didn’t know you wanted to kiss me,
And after a while, you didn’t. Now I see
Only public places that exist in those places.
And I never see yours—just other faces.
Today I saw the flowers in bloom.
Last night, walking, I saw a television on in a room.
Lovers make themselves larger cages.
Then return home, to death, to boredom, just like lovers from other ages.