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Click hereI only initialed the love poem
that I left on your desk,
so that you could pretend
you didn't know quite whom
it was who left it there—
as either a chocolate or some bird shit,
something delicious or a stain
you'd have to scrub off the diary of your life
just to feel clean again.
If you get a washcloth out,
I will leave you alone, for my love
is not obsessive. I am simply
eager, mournful, yearning. . .
based, I know, entirely upon how
we sometimes have talked
as if that meant my hand on your thigh
might excite you
or my tongue might interest you
twirling, in some sweet way other than words.
There's a lot of good poetry hidden here and there on Lit, but every once in a while you'll find one that is as good a poem as any poem can be. This one is pretty near to perfect. Warm and kind and smart and earnest and funny, and then clever on top of all of the rest: the poem itself is the note left on the desk, which gives an Escher's hands feeling to the whole thing. And then that last line brings the house down with a mic drop. Billy Collins, eat your heart out.
Tzara makes this place better just by being here. Thank you.
This is in the same vein as a lot of your poetry, clean, well written paired back enough as to allow a reader room to place themselves at either side of the narration
The dichotomy I’d hope/waiting for rejection is very relatable
throwing you feelings on a desk and hoping
Trying to brush aside the hope by adding the layer of self deprication
In the lines
Like some chocolate or bird shit
The duality in this simple phrasing ratchets up the narrators tension
to the act and attempts to be dismissal of the offering
But at the end there is still hope..
Nice engaging and polished
Thanks