Love Poetry

September 14, 2010

1.
She lifted the words of my poem off the paper,
dry-flower pressed them between the pages
          of her heart,
carried the meaning in her bosom
between her breasts
where a line of sweat traced her cleavage,
cleaving the sense of the words to and from our souls
like the drop of sweat rolling between my eyes
down the bridge of my nose to drop
upon the page, blurring any trace of meaning
between the careful symmetry
          of the lines.

2.
Remember how we used to leave each other messages:
the first one out of the shower
would write with their finger
on the steamed mirror
I “heart” U or
U R SEXY;
words that remained after
the condensation evaporated.