Monday, February 22, 2016

DON'T KNOW MUCH BIOLOGY

Not until some
twenty
or

thirty minutes
after the car
drove

away—walking, by-
proxy,
Lucy, in the

slowly dissolving cool
of mid-
morning sunlight,

did my upper
right side―first begin
to goosepimple

and tingle a little,
to feel—not
on my

skin, but bubbling
shyly
up

from somewhere secret
and microscopic
deep inside it—
the weird,

quickening difference
between
the fact

of dumb love—
and the

very well-
formed and
allowable phonological
fictions which surround it—I mean,

between—
a purposive I

Love You (tightly
understood,
loosely

solicited) and an ape-ish
little one-
off rub

of a
tense upper
arm—

which definitely
wasn't.

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