Who I do not love,
Who I don’t not love.
You who I stubbed my toe on,
And toed the line for.
You who I doted on,
Devoted on, pined for.
You who I seek,
Who I see.
You who seemed so impeccable to me.
You who seethed so impudently.
You with the comforts.
You with the comportment.
In your apart-ment
I could have but didn’t
(That wasn’t quite
The end of it).
You who went hidden.
You who went hungry.
You who, bedridden for weeks
Got a gangrenous angry.
You who came back from safari
In saffron robes.
You who I knew,
Who I’ll never, never know.
You who are both whole
And half. Both calm and wrath.
Both balm and malice.
You who rebuked then re-rebuked me.
You who I needled and needed.
You for whom I tolled like a bell.
For whom I descended into hell.
For whom the third day rising came far too fast.
You who cannot serve both god and glass.
You who cannot sever bad from bliss.
You who I kissed.
Who I cussed.
You who I love.
But not enough.
