I pushed you, and unprepared, you fell.
The world has muscles and inventions.
It has alacrity. When I was new
milk was sweet. That changed with years
of actual sugar on my tongue. Milk became water,
a nourishment, but not a treat.
Sugar added; chocolate; life was sweet.
Then came beer and kisses. I became a man,
an amused moron moving towards pregnancy.
None makes this life seem good—like I can.
I have the ability to know everything good,
even during the bad, before it’s even understood.
I fell in love with Shakespeare’s speech
before I had a scholar’s reach.
I am unconscious in the best way—
trying to love, even during the play.
I am patient to know the good yet interrupt
me when I’m writing the poem my cat
is purring and I forget my poem just like that.
I’m too kind to push you with much force.
You love me. We will never divorce.