My dearest, the clear unquaried blue Of those depths is all but blinding.You may remember that once you brought my boys Two little woolly birds.It talks to itself all night, like a sliding moonlit sea. At dawn, where the ocean has netted its catch of lights, The sun plants one lithe foot On that spill of mirrors, but the blood goes worming through Its warm Arabian nights, Naming your pounding name again in the dark heart-root. Anyway, I should want you to know I have done my best, As I'm sure you have, too.
Was listening to stupid boy today, been the giver and receiver of what the song talks about in my time. I'll probably get some flak for posting this poem, since it's in the form of a love letter from a married man to a married woman (not his wife).I thought about how many women had been in my position, waiting for a man to leave his wife.As the lover you get the edited highlights of a marriage: the laughter, the smiles, the sex. But what we lacked was emotional closeness — that lovely sense of wasting time together and the accompanying feeling of certainty. And I’ve made myself a promise: in my next relationship, I want Sunday nights and Monday mornings together, and all the boring minutiae of daily life that couples take for granted. So I came up with the idea of posting songs and or poetry that give advice and or inspire regarding that thang called love. But for what it's worth, this is probably the most haunting love poem I've ever read: -- , by Anthony Hecht I have been wondering What you are thinking about, and by now suppose It is certainly not me.But the crocus is up, and the lark, and the blundering Blood knows what it knows.