July 27, 2007
Someone called this old poem to my attention this morning.
It reminded of what a volatile 7 years it's sometimes been and how far we've come since this conversation took place in a Pittsburgh hotel room.
What a long strange trip it's been.
Seeking Definition
You tell me love is more
than moments spent
too artlessly entwined.
You tell me "Love is Fire."
I say that hell is hell
because it's kept
too goddamn hot.
You tell me hell
does not exist
and pull away in ire.
I tell you "Love is gentle heat --
The smallest embers
will survive."
We agree to disagree
and love's left undefined.
These, I think
are moments.
You brush the hair
back from my eyes.
We settle back more cautiously
and watch the clock unwind.
The Hypertexts
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