a Journal of Poetry and the Arts
Stop For Me
I love your eyes
I like to swim in their pools,
I love your wind as simple
as a pine forest undisturbed.
I love your brainy attempts to
understand love, especially
when you became mentally wavering
and said to a past despair, “I never
knew you,” your hand wrapping a wrap
around my shoulders.
I love the way you talk
when you make a picnic out
of a simple conversation,
and make a joy out of small
knick-knacks of words
instead of having a discussion
Instead I like the way
you are satisfied with the absurd.
I like your chest and the way
your heart beats when you realize
that you have only been given
the second best, instead of something
heart to heart, just as how Christ was
the substitute then, and Christ was lodged
in your breast.
I also love the way you eat eggs,
and have never admitted that
or stooped so low as to say, “Our love
we have both begged,” or that the pain
of life we did know.