Floating

Floating

Now that I know what love isn’t,

instructed by a history of errors,

 

I can say for sure

what I’ve long suspected:

 

that night drive home from Cincinnati

dozens of years ago

 

(or was is only ten)

meant as much as the whole decade since.

 

Two lovers: one for a night and one for the long run,

one on wheels and one with an anchor.

 

It seems unfair that the first would

still drive me to the same conclusion:

 

that it’s possible for love to float alongside you

separate from the safety of your ship

 

like an old lifeboat, tethered,

just waiting for you to jump in.

 

 

DeMaris Gaunt

9-21-13

 

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