The world loves you for your music, all the sweet things
it raises inside a woman. I love you
for your fingers and toes – the way they flex and curl—
for your lips and knees
your mind and hair. Your eyes half hidden
by your eye lashes, the thick curtains that say,
“Enter if you dare.”
This is not love, you declare vehemently,
adamant that what you feel or don’t feel
has any shape. This is a nameless song you sing,
your fingers strumming fast on the guitar strings.
Girls lift their skirts kicking high with their flamingo legs.
Outside, the river flows from the high land to low ground,
all the way to the ocean where we won’t be visiting.
The world swoons to your music, swinging hips.
I love you to the madness.
Some things are worth more because you’ve never had them.
Intended or not, once everything has been spun out,