4 December 2011


After coming, the lovers
are exhausted in that way,
the shade under which
a shawl is splayed, blessed
etchings of a sunshine
where others have lain before,
a basket of fruit like a cradle
near them. After coming,
the lovers are reminded
of laundry, chores to do
before light leaves the eye
(like a candle withdrawn
from a room). For Cupid
now has no more work
with them; love holds them
against the world's intent
in its ransom of hearts.
So they agree to return
to houses where bodies
are all ghosts and ghouls
behind locked doors, for
their souls aren’t for pillows,
eiderdowns, mattresses,
where they surreptitiously
wait it all out until they can
return here to come again.

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