of agape and eros;
there are two kinds of love
there are two kinds of love
we the stricken know of:
the one we’re so stuffed with
it billows from our pores like magic—
at night we can barely
shut our eyes
and each caress and kiss
feels tantric—and of course
the next-morning kind
which we walk around so light on
that every time we take
a step, it’s like
that every time we take
a step, it’s like
we glide
into oncoming traffic.
