Here’s the thing I fear, my dear.
Here’s the thing I fear, my dear: I’ve lost myself
completely. Cast as I am on the sea
of your charms, lost as I am in the wake
of your arms. Sunk in sad contemplation
when electronics malfunction and I’m left
without the sound of your voice, and little
choice or compunction to do anything
other than breathe. And even that isn’t
easy these days—enlarged as my heart’s become,
pressing down on my lungs. Even my ribs
resound at the sound of your name or the
delicate etch of your electronic texts:
You confound me. (And this isn’t just sex.)
Here’s the thing I fear, my dear: I’m in love.