At Gigino’s
It is time to love a poet,
time to turn towards myself, stop doing all the loving,
let myself be loved.
It is time to love myself.
Happiness survives for as long as it does so,
open up and trust the waters that flow will not
drown us.
My poet looked up and saw me.
She blushed in the light of what might be
and then she became liquid, all at once we filled each other up.
Now I need to know you better.
In the better knowing of you
I stand a chance to drink from our springs and
for a while now, I will not know thirst.
After
it will become quieter
those shouts inside your head will be becalmed
the scene absorbs amid children
daily routine
for granted is the refrain
natural that it would calm down
comfortable we do become
life at our age, place, time.
but then the question of your face arises
the softness of your skin
the depth inside your eyes
and then
the sweetness of you compromises
any real attempt at normalizing you.
the loveliness of you
the endless fascination of your neck
before we begin to mention your smile,
each kiss reminds me
so I will silently shuffle past received wisdom
and whisper, oh yes that is true but not my dear when we are talking about this women, let me be clear: the rules do not apply to you.
Dadhood 