poetry

Love [oh yes, I’m frightened of meeting myself] (evoL[V.E.]) (I)

 

How much do I love you?

I love you this much, they say.

And this is as long as a mile of

sMILEs …

But an embrace is a signal

of an understanding soul,

and as everything must

find its table

to be put away and up-

on a waystage of life, like

a locomotive breathing

water, I crossed those waters

in impatient youth.

And what I did, I did out of

imperfect love: love snatched

not given; not freely understood.

Yet there were many times,

I’m beginning to remember now,

when requests not demands

gave painful freedoms up

for supping out of desperation

at len-

sit-

ude of action: stuff mistaken for

other non-

sense, too.

And I can go ahead and say:

I have no right today to say

what I have to say, before

I ought to say it.

But in my heart, deep down

in my soul, like a badge of cour-

age-

old inscription of

proscription, fully met and made

to other dea-

rest promised soul,

there’s nothing more that can

prevent me from saying: my heart

lies its head on pillows of love:

and I know you all love me, and

I know what that means: but I need to

be allowed to love and exactly as I want

you, not yous and yous and yous …

for this is exactly

as the fire in my heart may de-

sire and per-

spire its way to certain joy.

So that’s why I feel my “I need” is

so clear for me:

and I guess how much I truly love you

by the measure of your silence – and even

so, life remains so;

and I guess this always will be true

today,

and I guess this always will be true

tomorrow.

 

And now it’s your turn:

you guess how much I love you;

you imagine how I must’ve suffered,

for love like that, unseen, unbolted,

just haunted love which

haunts old haunts

that meant I spent a “rest of my life”

escaping your casual encounter …

 

And I love each and every person

I have sensed made a connection

with the physics I am.

But if the truth be said, admitted,

devoured and scoured like bitter pill

required by medical man to be

taken for damning, blasting own

good, I have to tell you from the depths

of my soul – from the old men I’ve been

and the young man still here –

there is nothing, not even terrifying,

horrifying, debilitating lack of 

enthusiasm on your heart and part

and soul by now,

which will ever stop me

from loving your still: from the

very first day to the

very last one, my love will always

be unconditionally felt; my love will always

be frighteningly bent now on helping others

wherever I can; on striving to be good …

 

and

{I      love      you      this      much!}

more than my page can

de-

scribe.

 

And finally, ultimately, when my soul

is battered to say any more,

to be clearer than this,

do re-

mind of that first kiss we

exchanged at the bus,

and do re-

mind of that moment

I entered your door,

and climbed up the stairs,

and then rarely understood what

was happening to me: and now

I can see it was all real;

and now I can see it was me.

Not a past to besmirch but a

future to live; not a once upon a time

nor even a happily ever after –

just a peace at last with you.

 

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