They made love,
And it was everything
Of which all the deepest poetry
Of the world
Speaks
But fails
To even come close
To that deep and ineffable
Human
Experience.
As we stood at the door
Saying good bye she said
I have a friend
I think you'd like her,
She paints.
I closed the door
My heart receded
It's you I love, not some
Painter.
For dramatic effect I repeated the sentence
To myself.
It's
You
I
Love
Not
Some
Painter
With that I fell into darkness
And with tears trickling down and mixing
With the beads of sweat that only moments ago
Covered our bodies
I went back
To read
The deepest poetry of the world.