Poésie d'amour

Love is a fire that burns unseen,
a wound that aches yet isn’t felt,
an always discontent contentment,
a pain that rages without hurting,

a longing for nothing but to long,
a loneliness in the midst of people,
a never feeling pleased when pleased,
a passion that gains when lost in thought.

It’s being enslaved of your own free will;
it’s counting your defeat a victory;
it’s staying loyal to your killer.

But if it’s so self-contradictory,
how can Love, when Love chooses,
bring human hearts into sympathy?

Our love is the long lasting kind;
We’ve been together quite awhile.
I love you for so many things,
Your voice, your touch, your kiss, your smile.

You accept me as I am;
I can relax and just be me.
Even when my quirks come out,
You think they’re cute; you let me be.

With you, there’s nothing to resist;
You’re irresistible to me.
I’m drawn to you in total trust;
I give myself to you willingly.

The air is a mill of hooks―
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.

I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up

Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagration, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?