Coupling
Feb 16 2023
I have yet to write a love poem.
Yes, poems of desire.
Of longing and lust.
Cynical takes
on love lost
betrayed
regretted.
And the other kinds of love
that don't involve
either falling or luck.
But if I do
you will not read it here.
Rather, I will hold her hand,
reciting it by heart
when the lights are out,
at night
in bed
lying side-by-side.
A poem
just between us
in that liminal state
between wakefulness and sleep.
Words
that instead of taking up space
like gifts of candy and Hallmark cards
extinguish it,
drawing us closer
until we are one.
A sonnet, or romantic ode.
Blank verse, perhaps
or even rhyming couplets.
Then who cares
if the poem turns to prose
then speaking in tongues;
unbridled lust
when love is done with words.
A self-proclaimed poet who never writes about romantic love can't be much of a poet. (As to my ability, you're free to decide. As to the why not, you're free to speculate.)
So with Valentine's Day still in the air, it seemed a good time to try. Especially after reading this piece in today's Atlantic.
https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2023/02/valentines-day-read-poetry-out-loud/673042/
After all, it seems to me that a love poem that's kept between two lovers — never published, made public, given to anyone else to use as their own — is the most most sincere and intimate form: for your one-and-only, and not generalizable. Like art for it's own sake, there is a purity of intention to this.
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