CALL ME BELOVED

Tell me, wasn’t this love?
My hand on yours, those songs
on our lips back in your dorm room
when you first thought that maybe
I could sing with you, forever

And who will know you, now –
steady your shoulders when the grey comes,
steal your blankets at night and encroach
upon your pillows? Which side of the bed
is yours, as we stare up at separate ceilings?

Tell me, didn’t you feel it too –
how we jig-sawed together, at times,
when your ear could rest against
my racing heart – isn’t that love?
Were you frightened of what you heard?

Was I like trying to love a storm cloud
that vanishes once all the rain pours out,
or fragile like an ice sculpture, hissing and
cracking under the heat of your sun –
and what is left for us, now we’re done?

If love was enough we’d be lounging, fanned by fronds
fed the ripest fruits, basking in the warmth of all of it –
singing in your Volvo, the steering wheel always shook
and I’d hold your free hand steady; wasn’t that love?
You’ve seeped into my marrow; I carry you with me
always – isn’t that love?