There is only yearning, and when I sing,
What will it be, but “oh darling?”
This is all I know, and the rest
Is a mystery; I love; I know that’s the best;
But what this means is, also, I don’t know,
Because love is never about what you know.
Love is only about when you sing
Those two words, “oh darling!”
The “oh” is the simple groan
Of passion, felt, expressed, but unknown,
In how it whispers or yells, inarticulate,
Passion the big expression inside the little bit.
There is nothing to understand, or know,
About that “oh!”
As far as the word, “darling,”
Here lies everything we might ever sing
In fondness, desperation, or praise.
There’s a recording; and it forever stays.
But most of the time we’re embarrassed; did you ever sing
To someone, “oh darling?”
I once loved curves and whims.
Now I love her thin limbs.
Tomorrow I’m going to sing,
“Oh darling!”
She will be surprised.
I’m going to discover a few things in her eyes.