Love does not need my help;
My poems can be quiet now.
All that I asked them to do
I got through kisses, anyhow.
There’s more than enough sky
For stars— see? they gather above
In layer upon layer; what poetry finds
I found for real, later, when I was in love.
The quiet teenager feels
All that is necessary to feel,
So that’s not exactly what I want
As I admit this isn’t real.
There are many ways to love,
And quiet love is usually the best.
Love does not need my help.
Kiss. Then we’ll rest.
