Questions For Your Lover

 

Do you want

                (as though this is 1804)

for me to never show my glossy tongue;

for my hands

to rest in crinolined quiet

while I wait for proposals

you will never offer? 

 

Do you want

                (though you would never ask)

for me to be the architect,

to ride a white steed

or perhaps even to play the villain

taking you wildly

as thought a damsel, prisoner

to god-knows-where

or salvation?

 

Do you want

                (I’m not saying you do)

to go out thing-less,

wearing only our calloused feet

into the forest

and fuck like bears

who’ve never heard of alone

gorging on nameless berries

until winter?

 

Do you want

                (because you love tragic nobility)

to marry the wrong person

on purpose

and on my death bed

to clutch at my wrinkles

bemoaning your mistake

just like in all the foreign films

I’ve come to hate?

 

Do you want

                (as though such a thing exists)

for me to proclaim

on top of the tallest mountain

with the sun streaming behind me

like a page ripped from the bible

that I will take YOU

and ONLY YOU

from this life and into heaven

and never turn my raptured eyes

from your holy face?

 

Do you want

                (because you can’t stomach the truth)

to ravage my body

and her body

and their bodies

as though nothing is alive,

as though you don’t deserve to be held

in reverent tender

because anything but violence

cuts you too deeply? 

 

Do you want

                (because you never knew your mother’s breast)

to curl up inside of my love

like a kitten on the radiator

and sink your claws into my miles of plush

and surrender

and surrender

until you have stopped

being separate? 

 

Can you instead

                (I know it’s asking a lot)

heal your wounds

open your heart

let go of anything you hold

even if it’s good

and meet me in all dimensions

with your eyes wide open

to the morphing moment

and simply allow

what starts to sprout

to grow freely

without worrying

when autumn will arrive. 

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About jake.forrest

Poet. Songwriter. Etc. View all posts by jake.forrest

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