I've Loved You So Long.

Stranger, I've loved you so long.
A century ago, we were twins,
and my body aches to know you again,
to believe, for just one moment, that you are my own
that something in this free-wheeling world
can be stilled, and held close--
that something can be private, and absolute.
But each sweet kiss planted on the lips
grows bitter in the mouth, and every moment
comes up against an eternity of soft regret,
the unconvincing penance that is done
by the sinner that does not believe his sin.
Stranger, I know you'll never love me
as I would love you: to the poet, everything is sacred.
Everything is beautiful, and the world
is kindling, ready to be set aflame
by the spark of a word, or a careful phrase,
measured with such eager precision
so as to ensure a blaze in the hearts of others,
so as to know, if only for one moment
that we aren't alone.