For JI love you. That's a fact, but facts are
Malleable things. I see you only rarely.
When I do, I'm thrilled beyond description,
And, when you're not near, I ache
Most wretchedly. I've told you that,
But what if you always were here?
Would I begin to find your striking looks
Mundane, your sweetness something
My tongue could no longer taste?
Are there things you do which would,
In time, begin to bother me? And
Would your ardor also cool until,
At some point, all we were were with
Each other, claiming without feeling
We still loved? I hate to even have
That thought. Perhaps the love and longing
Are like any magnet's pair of poles,
And one can't last without the other.
If that's so, I guess it's best that
You're not often near.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 158 times
Written on 2019-01-28 at 18:14
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