I can only write this
because I know—
or at least I have reason
to assume—
you’ve been here
in a similar chair
in a similar darkness
which covers evening
with a kind of urgency
to speak in sentences
that can never be
mistaken for platitudes
or pleasantries—
I want to reduce
the enormous weight
of emotion
to a few words like
admiration and envy
and even love—
if you’ll permit such a word
to be used innocuously
and from a safe distance
and with the right amount
of reverence.
You have sliced me open
with words
and carved into my heart
a sculpture so solid
and centered—
not even my lover
can move it or lift it
or drop it and break it
as easily and effortlessly
as you.
DeMaris Gaunt
10-21-14
