Venus Comb

(From my poem "Love Song.") If I were to say to you, Darling,
if I were to say to you, Honey,
if I were to say Love, Hope, Sweet—

would you answer the way I want?

You are dear. You are dear to me.
There are twenty answers to every question,
a hundred, a million, so that when I ask,

Why do you love this? Why do you feel this?
the answer is a greater pleasure
than when I ask, What do you love? What do you feel?

Darling, every night you sleep and I wake,
or else every night I sleep and you wake,
I can’t remember, or it doesn’t matter,

because somehow we line up, anyway,
like lace lining silk in a dress,
or like wonder clinging close to something
brand new, something new and strange in the world,
and someone has seen it for the first time,

or someone has seen her for the first time,
and anyway, love, wonder and strangeness
cling and clang so when someone says,
I do not like this world, I want to say,
I do not know this world,
and it’s different today, and it will be different again
tomorrow, and I haven’t seen it
how it is, how it truly is with this new wonder,
washing all the world with a kind of blue dye,
because something new is here,
something new,
and I am new in it.


For Muriel, who is brilliant and witty and kind and at all times more wonderful than she knows. Many happy returns of the day!

** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** *

Watching you from the wings, I know what I’ve done, and I don’t mind because it’s the truth, what I said: we aren’t together, and Friday nights seem to stare off into limitless space

the way I would if I were standing on the edge of a cliff at night, a sheer drop into stars, the wilds of ridiculous wastes of sand, each star not you.

Or else this: the way you look over the edge of the stage into the dark, the floodlights blinding you, your voice reaching out, honey, past everything you can’t see, while everything that’s coming is black on black.

But alone in your spotlight, all black and pink and not crying and that honey-crystal voice, you look back at me. You can’t see any of the others, looking over the sheer cliff of stage into starry space; you can feel the heat of the lights, and feel me waiting. I don’t always know waiting for what.

But I feel the pull of you, when you sing;

sometimes I think you’ve gone out, far into the dark, without me; but you’re here, and I hear your voice in the dark;

Santana. While you can, turn toward me in the dark.

  1. brittanythevampireduckslayer reblogged this from venuscomb and added:
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  5. youreterriblemuriel reblogged this from venuscomb and added:
    Tess thank you, This is so haunting, so aching, so beautiful!
  6. venuscomb posted this