Why About Love? II (July.2015)

She was the broom that swept
me out of my concave mattress
as the sun crept over the horizon
and swept me off my feet
when the sun stood at its apex

I’ve never felt so helpless

She had strings tied with bowline knots
to every visceral neuron like chains
heaving a futile car down the highway
on its two front wheels;
even if there were a conscious
driver—Hercules himself
thrusting the gas with his great Greek gall  
it couldn’t break free  
I couldn’t break free  

I’ve never felt so dependent

She needed not be visible
to imbue me with life either, to make me
amorously dance like a mating primate  
to make me write like a reporter
with an imminent deadline and jaw dropping spectacle
to make me sprint fervently
down a random street rife with strangers
solely because she might have
been the one I saw turn the corner 23 yards away

I’ve never felt so foolish
I’ve never felt so credulous
Ive always been so sensitive