Lovesong

But if the unbelieving depart, let him depart. A brother or a sister is not under bondage in such cases: but God hath called us to peace.

-1 Corinthians 7:15

It isn't enough to wish you well.

Not to want for your goodness,

to feel or taste it

like Heaven's wine on the tip of the tongue.

If only to forget it.

Like a daughter who loves

but doesn't know love.

Or an old friend forgotten and dead.

The rulers of older empires bathe

in sunlight or in thought,

scrub as it wraps itself like the

tongues of serpents around their arms.

But what now and here

can we offer?

The warmest thanks to all

adulterers and their most feeble,

most honest,

honorable attempt.

Accept our failings, our piety,

our outright hate, please, with

patience.

Smack together in air,

and cry your praise. What else have

you to do? Grow your red hair long

and kiss and hit, knowing, perhaps,

that at least,

the dying moves slow.

Brandish your love like an axe against

the emptiness. Beat it against the burning

tree or door, till it's ash or opens to

something else.

Here dear,

have a drink.

Have another.

How can you be blamed? Love.

Are you not cutting off the hand

that sinned? Sacrificing

your flesh for the sake of something more,

if not only for the tendered want for more?

If not for then at least for now.

If the world is dead and truth dying,

cut out the eye that sees it and

stumble blindly on.