388: Untitled (draft)
I just wrote this; don't judge me too harshly.
*
*
*
I lied, yes, I admit it:
I am in love. But, you
Must understand this:
Only barely, barely
Infatuated with his nose.
Or perhaps with another,
I moon over his words.
Either way, either I am
A liar or a fool, sentimental
For the one thing on which
I cannot write or experience
Properly at all. All the great
Poets, I hear, have said
The one great subject is
The romantic-but I have
No pen to put to paper,
Only these fingers-never
Trembling, only quick-
That seek to understand
What is outside the realm
Of one that needs another.
*
*
*
I lied, yes, I admit it:
I am in love. But, you
Must understand this:
Only barely, barely
Infatuated with his nose.
Or perhaps with another,
I moon over his words.
Either way, either I am
A liar or a fool, sentimental
For the one thing on which
I cannot write or experience
Properly at all. All the great
Poets, I hear, have said
The one great subject is
The romantic-but I have
No pen to put to paper,
Only these fingers-never
Trembling, only quick-
That seek to understand
What is outside the realm
Of one that needs another.