In Two Moments
for D.B.A.

i.
let her misuse me if she will or if she must
I trust her with my heart, trust her with my life
I trust love, my love for her

but what if she does not love me one bit
what have I to trust on or trust in

what if all that's sustaining us is politeness
pity for the state I'm in, for this love-sick,
love-starved puppy

what if my puppy love is a creature
she does not wish to feed, prefers to starve

does not wish to see become full grown
prefers to have and to see die

a puppy, not a growling, barking, biting love-dog
able also to catch whatever Frisbee
fetch whatever stick

does she wish to see our love as large,
as healthy as this pet
she is or was glad to take with her wherever
collar about its neck, upon a chain pulling
strong as she is

so what if I am hopelessly, helplessly in love with her
I worry about not having her to myself, for myself

worry about sharing her with someone else
worry about what status I'd end up with

fear being attributed status not at all comparable
with status I've accorded her

not at all prepared to make sacrifices I've made for her
for me, just what I have done to, done with wife to be
she can do with and do to me

what I do not feel for wife to be might be exactly
what she does not feel for me

far less than in love, intimate and distant
able to alternate between these in a flash

able to flash hot and to flash cold
like a woman undergoing a change of life,
undergoing menopause

far far from such a phase, instead, at 18, she is
much nearer its other end

it is I who'd have passed through it, gone through it
were I a woman

older by a year than was Columbus
when he expired

if Obama can be president, can I not have her
can she not love me like I love her

commit to me as I am committed to her
or are we made of different substances entirely

substance of which she's made, I am prepared
to have for supper, to succor

I am prepared to suck her Suzie, tongue, tits
until she cry out, until she called upon our Maker
to take her

ii.
I feel her loving me and I can hardly bear it
we are making Literature and making love
and I am being made unbearably happy

what increment of too delightful things she's told me
accumulated over time

drops of rain in a bucket until it is over flowing

we drink love from tea spoons, her love and my love
measure out love in tea cups, in two cups
I drink from hers she drinks from mine

do you have company she asked
or don't you ever have company
I was unsure which

was she thinking it is or it was
too good to be true how available I am
when she calls, when she wants me

my friends, my closest associates though
are dozens and dozens of artists, long dead
long buried

I'd wonder if even she and I belonged
to such a realm

I'd wonder if we're in heaven
though I'd hear her in conversation
with persons on earth, with mortals

how high our affair, how high our escapades
so late in my day, so early in hers


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written on Sunday, April 18, 2010
between 9:10 a.m. and 3:27 p.m.