Three Love Poems & a Song of Limerence

Wassily Kandinsky - Movement I (1935)

Wassily Kandinsky – Movement I (1935)

Three Love Poems & a Song of Limerence

I

I always find myself talking about
love when I talk about
you.

hanging out with Stendhal
proved illuminating, but not as much
as an evening in with Dorothy Tennov
& the limerents

it turns out
I knew all along
what fuels the quotidian &

I am every love story in
the world

but yours

& the unimagined

II

Your love was a game
detrimental.

falling for you resembled

a science for mystics, Siberian tigers
& of

                 when Edison saw the light
                 for the first time
                 in his hands

post-delugional

I am this side of
powerful & the
poem arcs into
new eras of use

pirating my
imagination

I’m a
shape-shifter of
Time

& I see you historical;
turn to you with
the eyes of Orpheus,
looking back but
singing for no-one

III

It seldom rains in
Paradise.

My shoulders the mountains
& the arms I don’t have anymore, for the price of winds

I exchanged

(the Exeter ‘Change was demolished
in 1829 but a menagerie of emotions
lives on)

body currency liquid

                               the sea simmering

                               in your palm
                               is a colour invincible

the zoo of
existence

makes its
final call

for me

the
pharmaceutical industry of
Eros prays         belligerent

            formicary on your skin
            palpitant with life

in wait of

            mornings white, mercurial

   

* * *  

A Song of Limerence

as my world turns, I’m
the prime

meridian, my very own
lineage

in the clouds, fantastic
a panoply

of all my words for you
ecstatic

the embassy of death
approaching

aboard a train heading
everywhere;

I’m another version of
the Pacific

& the day I become man
I’ll stop

thinking as an ocean &
dreaming

of Paradise and other
attractions;

I don’t look to windward
& belong no

where voice is the curse
of life

over my black bed birds
marry

but this body soldiers for
light

to coin on crevices of a
tongue; I

& was none the inferno for
poetic mileage

but a weather’s Macbeth
when

& the evening turned
like you

wearing that intrepid
smile

summoning Springs
in July

I am the limerent sky
& fevering