Language of Love Poem by Rae Armantrout

There were distinctive
dips and shivers
in the various foliage,
syncopated,
almost cadenced in the way
that once made him invent
"understanding."

*

Now the boss could say
"parameters"
and mean something
like "I'll pinch."

By repeating the gesture exactly
the woman awakened
an excited suspicion
in the infant.

When he awakened
she was just returning from
one of her little trips.

It's common to confuse
the distance
with flirtation:
that expectant solemnity
which seems to invite a kiss.

*

He stroked her carapace
with his claw.
They had developed a code
in which each word appeared to refer
to some abdicated function.

Thus, in a department store,
Petite Impressions might neighbor
Town Square.

But he exaggerated it
by mincing
words like "micturition,"
setting scenes
in which the dainty lover
would pretend to leave.

*

Was it sadness or fear?
He still wasn't back.
The act of identification,
she recognized,
was always a pleasure,
but this lasting difference
between sense and recognition
made her unhappy

or afraid.
Once she was rewarded
by the beams
of headlights flitting
in play.