If I were but a mediocre poet
and loved an existentialist like you,
I’d find the words to make the whole world know it
but as it is I’m not, so which is true?
Am I in you discovering my dream,
or do you shine against my loneliness?
Do I detect respect for you? esteem
or fall’s behest to nest? I cannot guess.

Your body is too slight for me. Your hand
appears less large than mine. You like to fuss
with food and wine and I don’t understand
your catty sleep. When I imagine us
in bed I see us awkward, watch us miss,
but lately I’m a beggar for a kiss.