“I love you” in its kaleidoscope dress dances
like sunshine upon the waves -
does it remind you of something?
Does it remind you of me, my love,
as I sit here and write and break my heart over
entertaining a fantasy;
For you to say my name, just once - just once -
to hear your gentle breath exclaim this personal ecstasy of mine,
this declaration of victory that yes, I am myself!
Finally, instantly -
just one word from your lips - this word - and the fever of
battle inside me rages,
the body ready to swim all seas and win all wars,
to tear up all earth just
for you -
to find you, my lover, yes,
to return to a home of you.
I promise I will, and forever more I shall,
in exchange for the sound of
your rose water perfumed voice
caressing the essence of my Self.
I could
spin this song forever
let it wash endlessly
through the streets of the world, just to
declare my love for you,
just to shout your name into the night
or sing it as gracefully as I could
to infect every heart and ear with my feeling,
this emotion that overpowers me,
makes me crumble, fall to my feet,
lift my voice to highest praise, a taste unfamiliar to my mouth;
praise does not come so easily to me as the blade to a throat.
So have I not done enough to prove myself to you?
Have I not given all my heart, and all my soul, too -
Still no word. No answer.
The hunger inside my heart throws me forward,
edges me closer to the abyss,
the forlorn nothing, the never-ending absence,
a loveless mist to swallow me forever,
and you, my only savior, looking on,
your face a stone-cold mask.
You don’t want to let me in.
Don’t take my hand - for I could pull you down with me,
couldn’t I, my love?
The only power I possess is destruction.
This fragile bird of ours,
I swallow it whole between gnashing teeth,
and snap the neck of delicacy with the careless tongue
of unrequited love.
And who am I, after all,
but covered in dirt and blood, kneeling
at the altar of your love,
begging for my life as if
all the wars and battles won
matter nothing now. Perhaps they don’t -
what good is honor to me if
you crush it with one bare foot?
What good are strength and death and victory if
I was never destined to succeed in the king’s battle -
the last stand my heart could take, only to
lose the fight?
I have died more viciously by the sharp cut of your cool shoulder,
my love,
than I have ever hurt at the hands of a thousand men.
I, warlike, once a God,
wounded and fallen, now,
collapsed without dignity at your feet,
pleading for mercy
and crying, with every sense of emotion,
“I love you.”
