Discretionary Love

Emily Dickinson   a lovely test perched in her throat                                            like a song bird                                       waiting to fly                    from the hyoid bone —                                      for decades

Grind my bones, my love, And stir them into tea. Keep Me close to you by inhaling that Calcified steam Fragrant with all that ails

I knew I loved you in the bushes, whispering don’t wake the chicks their eggs, their mothers afterwards you lifted me onto shoulders pressing doorbells,

We remain where we are told, while the power is still on. We fear what dark and silence could reveal to them about us. Whatever

When I leave you, It won’t be out of anger, It won’t be out of jealousy. It won’t be for another woman, And it won’t

beauty brings joy     not sadness yet somehow my heart breaks small pieces     at the overbearingness the hardness     the shape

down the way to woo me nowadays nine letters a bad habit of yours that keeps me up at night seven letters the colour I

Such foolish beings we are, throwing ourselves against love, our bones still fragile from our last deliberate impact, learning nothing but what we wish to

We cracked the ice when we crossed Heart Pond   while the trees turned white on the churchyard hill.   And the fire we set

I made you a vow of paradise Though I knew I could not find the time To show you how much I cared and treasured

Live, Laugh, Love Karma is a name to which the pedestrian assigns their failures They persist that people who have outgrown them will “pay” Seeing