The easy photograph
And all the passive pleasure you enjoy,
No doubt, you deserve—
Why should I take away your joy?
The curvature of the model,
The movie hunk’s wink,
Teach you instantaneously
You—the passive one—don’t need to think.
Unthinking pleasure is pleasure,
You feel. And love
Is simply when photos start to move.
Why should I, who love you,
Contradict your vision
With sadness just because
What the thing is hides what it does?
I have thought long about this—
Ever since I wept on seeing Keats’
Urn where lovers for eternity cannot kiss.
We cannot kiss. Here’s a poem, instead.
This remains. This. All we did is dead.