Lover

Remember, beloved,
this world is kissing you
as she breaks your heart,
as she lifts you up, and
then casts you down
and asks:

how may I receive you?

Your freedom is here:
in this world, not the next,
in the chair before you
that awaits your gaze,
in the touch of your hand
on the rough red brick—
don't you see?

This is how she loves you.
The quiet aloofness
of your lover's face
could fall
and cradle your hair,
and even your pain
might be a rose
begging for your lips.

And what about her
would not be enough for you?

You, of whom
the springtimes have need,
whom you can never know,
only fall towards,
into the first death, then the next,
until dying feels like praising,
and abandonment
your lover's embrace.

So set aside the selves
that have carried you so far,
and lay them down to rest,
the world—she demands
it all from you,
and in return,
she'll kiss you
to death.