i was a slave
a slave for love
a slave slash poet

a poet
who writes none
none but love

a poet who loves
a lover who writes
writes poem full of love

full of love in the past
nothing in the present, but past
in the present full of nothing

nothing but sadness
sad poems
a sad poet

The looks you give me are almost
as disturbing as hearing the pills
I swallow dancing down the back
of my throat. I know they’re supposed
to help, but I feel implacable.

My heart goes out to many
My heart goes out to few
To friends who have my back
To the one I saved for you

Many think we have one heart
But I find that to be untrue
For I love the ones around me
As much as I love you

Some think I over exaggerate
When I yell out "I love you"
To a stranger, an acquaintance I just met
But they deserve love, too

So understand this heart of mine
In the many pieces you see
Is not broken, no,
But used, to share with many

The many are the ones I just met
The few are the ones I hold dear
If the many give it back to me
Then I give more to the few

I am strong,
Strong enough to take the beatings of the world,
To be burnt to death.

But you know where I'm not,
To see you get hurt,
Not even a scratch.

Stay behind me,
Let me get hurt for you,
That's how much I care for you

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Where can I find a heart
That doesn't shy away from grief?
Or a heart that yearns for something
Purer than a unicorn.

I'd like to meet that heart
And if possible, make it mine.

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.