| When We’ve Had It
It finds a way to slide up and down our souls like light on the fret board of a spider web. It never abandons us how people will, our senses leaned over an armchair, fallen to the floor, our attitudes, etudes for steel drums. Love never plunges into hateful grunts, furthermore will not rebuke the very things that spur it on. It never lunges at a target with fists. The boulder sized lungs of it breathe life into any living thing, man or aphrodisiac. Love never leaves us—though separation leaves a visible tear in the fabric of what one wears to a wedding— it merely finds a crack in the wall of self and rests there like a firefly. And when darkness comes, it illuminates like a bulb in a black whole. For love, one must never budge in the rough motion of a breakup. One must own it, when the crack in the wall gives off the false impression that life is decomposing. Isn’t attractive, when its hands stroke the soul and nothing happens, instantly. |