The animal way of love is bitter.
It often returns me to my lovely long rope that cords up to the moon,
where my climbing is small and sad, sexless, secure;
where I do not care for a partner, and there are no ugly questions:
How can I make myself spare,
and immediately vulnerable, and just enough?
How to confess sexually, how to lay out organs
tastefully, how to patiently come into each other?
How to respectfully and lovingly narrate? How to
bring tea? How to knock so quietly all the mice in the door
relax?
No comments:
Post a Comment