booksartyoume

'Yes, I do, I too' timothy r gates, 3/10/2008

Yes,
we do,
I too,
stumble,
always,
'till we stub our toes upon a rock;
then we stop.
we look.
we behold.
we usually whisper, or more, 'damn,' or, 'shit,' or
if we don't swear,
we replace it with an euphemism, meaning the same, like,
'oh, my-oh-my-oh-my, ouch!'
then say, under our breath, 'damn,' or, 'shit.'
Every lover,
yes,
I do remember,
save for the black-outs or Learyish trips of years ago.
Every lover, a friend,
still,
(Yes, this can be confusing to some.
But look at what they're missing.),
never tired of their memory;
also not sufficiently stupid to recall them aloud.
Eros.
Agape.
Phileo.
Beatrice knew them all,
taught them to Dante;
he to her,
a dance with a scythe
rather than a lance,
and then both baptized,
freed to feel the furnace's heat,
yet not be extinguished.
But to be consumed by her amorous limbs,
heart and soul,
damned and blessed?
Her milky, tender frame,
yes, I just saw;
and that mole that I was first to see,
I, again, recline in this view.
Take eat and take drink of my body, my blood,
my soul.
I do.