Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Poem, My Lover at Home in Rome, 3-20-12

For years my sole symbol of less mortal love
Offering his finger to free my caged doves
Less mortal feelings he created in me
Less mortal feelings translated purely
No shame or remorse
No guilt or spite
Nothing to work for
Nothing in sight
Freedom is void when it's sudden and lone
Freedom is frightening from small home range born

Can I survive (I asked) away from the nest?
Can I survive this joy in my breast?
Out on my own I'll secure my own fate
Capable maybe confident late

For comfort alone I sat among tourists
He sat on the Spanish Steps absorbing there muted
He said "I did that too!" when I was a boy
The tourists brought comfort and vicarious joy

The seed of the new sexuality torn
Between familiar but held away sworn
To another and another and others who may
Have admired him first and now I am at bay

Familiar at levels I cannot explain
Patient and loving each will remain
Foreigners separate

and happy with least
That what we have is a non mortal feast

Months and months later others take form
Hoping to substitute perfection honed
Available trumps the carrot held out
Passion fades gradually when not in the loop

Vicarious Spanish Steps referred to then
Transmitted through my phone from his dear hand
Shocked and then left out I felt in one moment
Shame we were meant in this lifetime for torment.

--EVE Featherstone

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