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LOVE IS A LUNATIC CITY
LOVE IN A LUNATIC CITY
Love crosses from isthmus to isthmus, from pain
To pain, with roots aqueous from teardrops,
And it seems there are few-very few who can escape
Alcatraz or other isthmus of islanded grief.
I search other worlds for you where the salt from
The sea of tears would never touch you, where
No sorrow would ever grow by any inadvertent
Thing I did; where love would flourish and not wither.
Such a world with unlimited vistas and a hard rock,
Where I could build our nest, such would be the
Type of citadel or fortress that could withstand fate.
Only a home built by loving hands and softness of
Speech where no recrimination would ever enter; instead
Love here is a lunatic city where pain is suckled like mint.
