A History of Love
When we were connected
we developed like an X-ray.
I continually apologized
for those things about me
and believed such things worthwhile.
I decanted a bottle of wine and set about
seducing the truth out of you
and when you got away I promised
a divine plagiarism of sorts
that would weed out the myth
of your vagina. In passing I uttered
comments and then imagined myself
becoming you momentarily
only to find that I was you
as much as a tree trunk was a bead of semen.
Lovingly, you stayed honest the longest.
I was more like a videogame,
light fare, nothing truly astounding
about the way coffee tastes
in Old France, nothing astounding
about the Old Hotel in Chelsea
or the way I fuck quietly,
trying my darndest to communicate
some physicality I can’t understand.
(from Alex Smith’s Lux, p. 77)