Because we were difficult it was perfect for it.
We quarreled immediately.
The sudden force of our emotions is why we didn’t talk for years.
Actually, we never talked.
We expostulated, sighed, sang.
We didn’t get along with our peers.
It takes forever to love. The skill it takes to disappear
is nothing compared to the skill
it takes to hold still.
Once, when I seriously tried to love, you laughed,
a cheetah saying “oh you giraffe.”
I didn’t know what to do then.
Snake to snake, we were lifted into a bright, furnished, den.
You reluctantly agreed to come over Saturday
afternoons—could you come earlier, I pleaded—
demanding severely, politely, regally, tea.
I had some and almost poured the hot water on my hand.
You smiled demurely, with only the slightest hint of hostility.
Later I got out the wine and rivers invaded the land.
We were stupid to think nakedness was king.
We didn’t really think about it. It was a very relaxing thing.
It was the most pleasing thing about you.
Is that why there was shame?
But I was indifferent to it for the sake of the mysterious universe
and its indifferent beauty. The stars out there.
Did they really deserve our blame?