you are I
and i am i:
you have bound yourself to such an immense
fantastic thing, while i keep myself
down to the i: incomplete, unhuman.
i would not go as far as to say that i
am a man, but perhaps a transition, or
perhaps a boy with an early case of facial hair.
i remember that Autumn well:
you seemed well standing alone,
yet i was waiting for you to crush me
with each of your powerful words.
however, crushing does carry nearly as much of a shock
i would love to be wrapped in your blankets,
but somehow (especially today)
your arms seem so much better.
to be one with you; but, my love,
two bodies become one and two breaths
become one in our little games; one is more than two.
now on your tercet:
you are o-so tricky in your poems!
look at what you have left me:
no end-stop, how cruel!
how can i even attempt to ponder
what you were pondering there?
spacing? poetic, yes,
but this poet tried to keep it all left-alligned
for our sake, but if you want
to play that game,
i'll suit up.
and, if you recall, i wrote poems
in response to your poems
it's just that this time i am trying
to re-melt you;
whereas before i was simply trying
to get you to say my name out loud.