Meadow / Pine / Sap / Sappy
(…am in some meadows and have been reading Frank O’Hara)
It would hurt my heart if I saw you with another. Moment of clarity there. Expressed with a touch too much grandiosity I have to say, but we go on in the same vein…
I am at my best when I am lovesick. Am I? If so then also at my worst. Which is to say more concentrated in all respects. In a way darker, in a way brighter, darkly brighter, brightly darker––at maximal intensities whatever. Words secrete then like resin…
I address this to you:
If you feel the same would you find a way to tell me / if I made room? / Are you brave like that? / Do you take risks? / Maybe you are not what I think / I don’t care / You are what you have been / I wish you would be more for me / I wish you would be something [italicise?] / Was there ever something? / Or was it just your voice? / If I met you in these fields would you lay with me? / deep down in the grasses / touch my skin
‘Resin formation occurs as a result of injury to the bark from wind, fire, lightning, or other cause’ (Encyclopaedia Britannica). Ah, so the falling kind of love is a wound and I am a hacked-at tree. What are you, then? Wind, fire, lightning, other cause… maybe a pickaxe, you chip away irresistibly at this bit of my chest near the breastbone.
(Still no suitable image…)
The important thing: you are someone to pine for.
