All this talk! And maybe if I lived
in this city, I wouldn't be each time to you
like a plant. What happens in the mind, that
honey
stays, viscous, turbid crystals, doesn't taste.
And you and I, half-met and all each other's,
try
new ways of keeping the leaves green
lest blossoms spill and fade. No, we can't go
together out in the snow without laughing,
can't retreat
chilled into the light, all honey
we shall have. I think of new ways
to cry before you, and each exasperation of
sweat stills like a silver crown. If I said
I loved it was forever, if I say I love
it is only for the moment. In this is our
future.