I wish that I could say
I
loved some little
strangeness in
your face, a quirk of a
mole,
some ghostly scar
across your
cheek, a way you have of
smiling. But I am not
the charming
hero of a charming
film, and
I was not drawn to a
small
thing about you—though
of course
you were lovely in your
darkness
and warmth, and the
curl of
your hair and your
enamel-bright
eyes and the weight of
you
when you happened to
find some
reason to be pressed
against me—
I was bound to you
entire. Your
wit and your happy
cruelty, your
earnest irony in the
service of
greater things.
All I
wanted was
you, whole and fiery,
but not all wants are
better fed.
No comments:
Post a Comment