pulling away
more like, pulling myself apart
from the undulating gestures,
the stops and starts of
here love grows—
the hidden tree where whee!
swing and chase away with bare toes,
where i hide, she confides and knows
always where to find me.
and where we lie
all stretched out
allaying about
all the wretched social woes
of frail human blunder
by just sitting under
the shade of our tree,
alone.
the art of love
l.m