Some Definite Rough Beast Love
(some kind of non dying being)

It's not enough
to inspire a young girl
to hold on long enough and remember
that one moment in time between her
and the electric body of another person:
that one trick pony ride
to the other side of her life
held in place by a 20 year old hug:
her tears, hair and young skin
against my face for just one minute
was enough to sustain this common
not so exciting cycle of days and hours
months and minutes, years and seconds
into a life of imagined babies,
shy eggs in the womb
clinging to the walls of love,
waiting to be noticed
waiting to be loved.

Surely there must be more than this.

Say we make a bodily agreement:
If you share your eggs with me
I'll put my life in you
so we can begin
the automatic cell division
and work at becoming
some kind of non-dying being.
With luck one tall-tailed swimmer
will meets its terminal obligation
and love the egg.

So save me now.
Regenerate me please
into some kind of definite rough beast love.
Make me holy again and save me
from love reduced
to death's everlasting darkness.

I turn my face away.

One hug was enough
to brighten a young girl's face
and capture the light shining in her eyes,
enough to remember
what we had then
and hope now we still do.