Tango Poem by L C Vieira

There is a love that considers
from where it came
and to where it does not
want to go again.

In the beginning, lovers are absorbed
in only each other,
hungry for the moment's feast,
grateful for the gorging,
hoping always for far more.

Apart, they blindly think and see
their Vision.
They carry their lover's taste and smell,
and stumble dazed
with only love, their guiding arrow.

These are the grand days of uncertainty.
Old habits slither away quietly
behind a curtain, thick with history,
shielding The Lover's Great Performance.

Hundreds applaud, rising smiling,
but one is caught. Certain.
Wanting more than what is given.
Curtains!
Lost in love and holding on.
Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.

A calculated dance
to bring together
and pull apart,
then back again;
a careful tango of surprises,
the tightness of the grasp
and blind at any distance.
Lost in love and grateful.

Then -

the wondering begins.
The curtain opens just a bit,
some indiscretion -
a word or two
that stings -
a reminder of some old ache.
He forgets. She remembers.
The analysis.

I love you.
I love you too.
I love you.
Do you?

One love whispers,
'I'm yours alone, '
(but free to advertise)
Another says,
'I love you only, '
(for now) .

The dancers with ancient eyes,
gaze away and back again.
They move towards each other.
Slow, slow. (Count the cost.)
Slow, slow. (Cut the loss.)
They choose the tango,
the closeness of the grasp.

There is a love that considers
from where it came,
and carefully knows
where it must not go, again.

(2003, Revised 2012)