Maybe if we move like animals
the rest will come after.
Maybe if we move our limbs like this –
our tongues like that –
we can become a giant, pulsing muscle
that only persists on memory.
Maybe if we lock the doors every night,
turn off the stove,
say I love you, brush our teeth,
it will become habit.
Maybe if we brush up against each other
until we are raw, bleeding, just a pile of red sinews
we will look at what is left of each other and think
How could anyone but the creator of this monster have love for it?
YOU ARE READING
Sonnets to Orpheus
PoesíaDon't be afraid to suffer; return that heaviness to the earth's own weight; heavy are the mountains, heavy the seas.
