Love is on a Tuesday

Read Aloud

Often said, “Love is poetry

incommensurate,”

So, watch as I lie and attempt.

Tempting to use words such as “passion, compromise, karma and sutra” to neatly string and bow the tawdry whimsy,

That great trance that seeks to destroy

the single in favor of fusion, and plenty.

Or perhaps, “tradition, duty, and tax benefits” is the apt,

Bold lines drawn around concrete structure,

the metric for value being linear

time and steadfastness to cliche.

But the reality is far more,

For it seems to be found at the end of the evening,

on a Tuesday,

when hills were mountains and demons wielded Goliaths,

but there was still enough breath for laughter.

Luckily, the best yet comes uninvited,

a sudden rush of warmth and wings,

mixed in liquid mercury,

that spills cascades like electric silk.

Never found when sought, but profound when a surprise.

- Michael Andrew Burt