If you love widely enough, you will notice others
finding it foul as if their singular love were diminished,
the woman reading a novel on a train to Barcelona,
the man writing poetry for a woman betrothed,
a child finding warmth pressed to the curved walls
of the full-bodied Rome Metro,
if it were all so simple
and permanent,
love would be quite sad the concept,
our leaves having drifted
so far from other branches
to know their similarities,
a berry bush primed for a mouth
that has taken a different sweetness,
and may it be known that love
is more than mouths and genitals
but the way we look at a face
and see the soul before
the color of their eyes,
embrace to say I hope
this will last
until next time,
rather than a procedural
goodbye,
how we sometimes cry
for the pain of strangers
as if we were meant to cry
for everyone.