I LIKE YOU

I like you, even more than before.

How is this possible? The secret is this:

Poetry teaches apology and forgiveness.

I have crossed out many a line

And put aside many an effort

Wholly written from kissing and wine.

Now as I contemplate forgiveness, there are sweet cold flowers

And a sweet cold sun. These mornings have been cold.

And the warmth only lasts a few hours.

Evenings have been cold, too.

Coldly—not with love—I sometimes think of you,

Coldly, when the hot sun burns,

And hotly, and mildly; harshly and sweetly by turns,

With every emotion: you, the only one, who has made me feel every one.

This is why I must like you or die; you are the only one

Who can make me cry for every reason under the sun.

You make me feel weak and strong, right about everything, and wrong,

No one has ever made me feel like you about everything, and everything possible, like you.

I feel like Sylvia Plath, who thought she was a Jew.

You make me feel like Marilyn Monroe, and look, I’m a guy;

And I can hear you say, “duh,” and give a little smile

And I can’t return that smile, because I fear you really think

I’m a fool, and inside I die, when I should just smile and wink.

I’ve confessed: you have an advantage over me.

This is why it is so difficult for me to move towards you romantically.

I love you too much and I fear you’ll take advantage of me.

I would go mad. So I have to stop at like.

Not only insanity and blood pressure—my bad poetry would spike!

Poetry makes life and love where there is none

And you are my poetry. You are the real sun

That burns. Poetry is the unity. But you are the one.

 

 

 

 

 

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2 Comments

  1. Marcus Bales said,

    June 24, 2015 at 12:47 am

    I Like You The Best

    Of all my readers I like you the best.
    You’re sexily well-read, and very smart —
    Oh, you’re the one; the rest are just the rest.

    Though most of them will think I speak in jest,
    It’s you, you know, who’s read into my heart:
    Of all my readers I like you the best.

    I’m feeling better now that I’ve confessed
    That it’s for you I struggle with my art.
    You are the one — the rest are just the rest.

    I see by your reaction you had guessed
    I liked you more, and liked you from the start;
    Of all my readers, I like you the best.

    You get me — and I like how you’re impressed
    That I know Horace comes before Descartes;
    Ah, you’re the one. The rest are just the rest.

    I like you very much — I’d be distressed
    At anything that kept us two apart.
    Of all my readers I like you the best;
    Yes, you’re the one: the rest are just the rest.

  2. thomasbrady said,

    June 24, 2015 at 12:02 pm

    Sweet after the meat.
    Bales has served a lovely dessert
    After Tom’s Byronic hurt.


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