I keep trying to remove myself from love,
extract ego like a mass, irradiate
adoration to wither any lingering whiff of self
so I can see it clearly—what is facet,
what is fragment. I wore white shoes
to my confirmation and now I hold everything
to that standard of purity. I want love
so clean that when I put my self back into it,
I can forego fear. Peel off every edge
of need. Find love a fencepost, its root so deep
and concrete I could never bend it
to my aching will. If I could anoint
your feet with oil, would you find me right
after the resurrection? Would you love me
like a fencepost, manmade and immobile?
In all my mythology, there are only two
loves: selfish and selfless. Both
have fractured me.
Like this:
Like Loading...