Where does love, loss and longing live in the body?
Do they live in the body, and, if they do, where?/can you show me where?
If they live in the body, can they die in the body? Do they die in the body?
Where does love live in the body?
I have to know/I had to know.
I was ‘in love’. I was in it.
It was in me, in a new way.
I had to be close — to you — it was doing bad things — to me. Because I still had this – other – love, in me.
Because I wanted to get it out. Because it hurt. Because I was hurting.
I was hurting and I was left with these fucking feelings of love. Love? Love? And loss, and longing.
It was in me/in my cells/in my head/in my throat/in my eyes/in my tears/in my fury/in my … private parts…
The really private parts. The hidden parts.
The depths. I let it in to all those private places,
But it didn’t make sense now, for it to be resting/churning/growling/hissing/spitting/lingering where it was.
I asked you, because maybe you’d know/maybe you knew.
And maybe if you knew, maybe you’d be able to help me out/help me out of it/help it out of me.
I wandered and I wondered, alone and with you.
We wandered and we wondered, and we moved/we were moved. Weren’t we moved?
Love didn’t do what I thought it might.
Maybe there will be magic.
Maybe the magic might undo it all.
Maybe there will be God.
And God can undo it all.
Maybe there will be stars.
And the stars undo it all.