This is the best poem I have ever written to date. I was afraid to share it with the world because of how “love” is personified here. After sharing it with a very godly friend of mine, I’ve gained the courage I desire to share it. She made an insightful comment–the woman is you–this is the way you see love. 

How do you see love? Bittersweet? Passionate? Consuming? Steadfast? Tidal?



“Admit it: you have spared her nothing, not even this.
Like little planets hanging there suspended like soft stars like
cattle kneeling in earth. Crows flutter in her veins; church bells
come again in wet speech.”
The Usual Past Tense …Is Hung
Emily Carr
Bittersweet is a generous love
all at once devoted and consuming
infatuation at its best
she becomes your whole world
every detail cemented in your heart
catalogue the joyful enraptured bliss
dote on her with all your riches
negate your own self care
all other people you dismiss
while you worship her
Admit it: you have spared her nothing, not even this.
Specks of copper on porcelain
intentional chaos of a master sculptor
highlight flaws that make perfection
you trace the dots forming the picture
her skin holding constellations
the rhythm of her heart begins to spike
careful attention at the cost of all else
you and she in limbo here
in all your differences alike
contained within her universe
Like little planets hanging there suspended like soft stars like
Time is not of importance
you lose yourself in her
and she lazily devours you
tasting the soft caverns of your heart
minutes turn to hours and days
you cannot think freely of her spells
mischief is her master
freedom is her burdened yoke
grazing through dormant impassioned belles
at her pleasure you are reduced to
cattle kneeling in earth. Crows flutter in her veins; church bells
Two are one and one are two
a tangled sleepy mess
she is the bond you cannot break
love rests here within forbidden fields
discipled by her captured affections
silent and still your bodies preach
to one another’s quiet fears
to pebbled paths of discontent
to consumption of each ripened peach
her pale blue eyes whisper in your ear

come again in wet speech.
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