|When We’ve Had It
It finds a way to slide up and down our souls
like light on the fret board of a spider web.
It never abandons us
how people will, our senses
leaned over an armchair, fallen to the floor, our attitudes,
etudes for steel drums.
Love never plunges into hateful grunts, furthermore
will not rebuke
the very things that spur it on.
It never lunges at a target with fists.
The boulder sized lungs of it
into any living thing, man or aphrodisiac. Love
never leaves us—though separation leaves a visible tear
in the fabric of what one wears to a wedding—
it merely finds a crack in the wall of self
and rests there like a firefly. And when darkness comes,
it illuminates like a bulb in a black whole.
For love, one must never budge in the rough motion of a breakup.
One must own it, when the crack in the wall
gives off the false impression that life is decomposing.
Isn’t attractive, when its hands stroke the soul
and nothing happens, instantly.