Why isn’t there a love we all can love?
Too bad there isn’t a contract we can sign
Before we occupy a mortal mind
Which says that love must always love
As long as bodies live.
Unfortunately
All we get is poetry,
And when it comes to love, poetry isn’t much to give.
We think of clever things to say,
And sometimes we say them,
But it’s never what we really meant to say.
We don’t know each other’s thoughts.
And so we are suspicious of the body,
Which is what we love and want.
I want to hold you, but I can’t.
A poem? Where is that contract I can sign
To cancel the room of my mortal mind,
Where all I do is look out at all I can’t have?
Your precious body will occupy a grave.
And won’t there be something I should have said
When I realize you—take my hand—are dead?
Not really. I blame the vast and boring mortal mind.
I want to cancel this. Yes, I’m the poet. Where do I sign?