I don't want love that's given like bread to
a bird, just thrown in the pond so carelessly,
though with good will in mind.
I want love composed like a letter,
each word carefully constructed,
enticing me to attempt an even more eloquent response,
this kind of back and forth exchange of wit.
And I want love that is like a long
and scenic walk, like a million flowers
performing lively dances by the edge of the lake;
love that is hard and soft, give and take.
I do not want to be thought a poor, lonely duck
in need of a generous park attender's charity;
I want to be loved with selfish clarity,
as though I am the setting sun.