love notes

these are things that I could not tell you;
things that remind me of you when I want nothing more than to forget;
things that have gone wrong;
things that have gone right;
things that will never happen;
things that are your fault,
my fault,
the faults of no one;
these are things that we did not do and will not let go of

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  • 22 Oct
    21:38 pm

    Love in the Cathedral, Miller Williams

    poetry365:

    “…except you ravish me.”

    In the beginning I couldn’t speak to you.
    Not because the words wouldn’t come;
    it was because they might. Not words like love,
    blooming where they fall; words like come here.
    When once you turned to look straight at me
    out of a crowd, I thought I must have let

    the sounds inside my head come out, like “let
    us all go home.” I wouldn’t say to you
    the wet, small words that moved inside of me.
    I have thought that faith and patience would come
    to no good end, that you would say, “See here!”
    and never say, “Well yes, I think I’d love

    to follow you home; to tell the truth, I’d love
    to have some wine, then talk awhile, then let
    you pleasure me.” Expelled to suffer here,
    John Milton wrote of us. I look at you
    and in my mind your awful kinsmen come
    around every corner, looking for me.

    You once talking about the weather with me
    and that was something, but it was not love,
    did not resemble love. Love ought to come
    in recognizable clothes. One day I let
    my plain and earthy self talk to you
    most gently, saying plainly, “Please come here,”

    but everything went wrong, a bah-bah here,
    a bah-bah there. You have bumped into me
    by accident, I have bumped into you
    on purpose on the street where talk of love
    was inappropriate, then I have let
    my heart hide in the cold and watched you come

    laughing and blind. No matter what may come,
    give me this: that all this time I stood here
    ignored to death and loved you while you let
    every chance go; say your glances at me
    suggested almost anything but love;
    say I know you cry in bed, poor you.

    Believe in love. You know that I am here
    to let you loose. Here is my flesh for you
    who ay abide with me till kingdom come.

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      a beautiful poem…
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