We sat on a strange wooden platform Which hung suspended From a strange metal structure. And we kissed in the daylight With cars passing by.
It struck me then That I hadn’t kissed anyone in the daylight With cars passing by In over two years. And I’d never before Kissed anyone in the daylight With cars passing by Who identifies as a Marxist. Or who loves Virginia Woolf. Or who takes her sandals off to splash in muddy water without prompting and Without even rolling up her jeans. Or whose love of life captures her in the same contradictions as mine. And I haven’t written a love poem For someone who might also be writing me love poems In over two years But this is it. Here it is.
This is it, Here it is, In four days We will live in separate cities And then I might not kiss anyone in the daylight With cars passing by For two more years Or two more after that but Such a possibility strikes me as unlikely. Not because we can commute but because you showed me As we hung suspended on a strange wooden platform Kissing in the daylight With cars passing by (As we braved the mosquito bites in that field that night; As we waded through the creek today While thunder cracked all around us And rain poured down right upon us) That I am someone who someone worth loving Can find worth loving.
Part Two**
Or hang on. It doesn’t have to be like that. It doesn’t have to be like kale soup, Which has been connoted for me as representing the preservation of tradition and community while effecting radical change within the food system. It can instead be like artichokes Which I just like For no ******* reason Other than that they’re good. We each got over 40 mosquito bites because, While we lay in a field under the, like, five stars that decided to show themselves at the peak of the Perseides meteor shower, We were too busy making out to give a ****. And it was fun. It was fun, and tonight when we got dinner and you asked me to explain why I liked artichokes so much We abandoned our tradition of narrative, us English majors, and we decided to study Sociology, Because sometimes it’s better to look at how things are Before you even ask yourself why.
A ****** poem. But ideas and moments I want to return to.