Not About Love
I have nothing new to write.
From too many recastings
The material has grown brittle.
It’s best to find another
And avoid these clumsy hands –
I will not write about love.
I will not write about a heart that groans
Against tense lines mooring it to a dock;
I will not write about how effortlessly
The straps slid from your moonlit shoulders;
I will not write about what moved your hands
To protect my wrists from me;
I will not write about why I lower my head
To kiss those hands rising when you breathe;
I will not rewrite words already written –
I certainly will not write about love.
But, when you stand in my doorway
Head slightly cocked,
And ask me what I’m writing about –
I will trace the afternoon light
That splinters into stems
Flowering at your feet,
And reply, without the least bit of irony,
Comments about this poem (Not About Love by Allen Blue )
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