[A Living For Us] a poem

Mon bien-aime,
you've finally returned from making
a living for us,
rose-petal sweet,
joyous and blindly culpable,
readily willing to give your
words of adoration to a novel
you are unaware has been pocketed,
the very novel without a title-

-and back finally in this bed we
share, these arms which have given
you a home within a home,
indulge recklessly, as an unanimously,
unspoken truth between us,
heavily convincing that the world,
in all its marauding merriment and
marveling moments, has finally landed
uncomfortably on its last leg,
and on ours, which is stronger than all
of the shouldering shoulder of the world,
we time and again encounter little we are
unable to hold steady-

-hours pass,
then I wake out of that deep sleep
sedated by our exertion of
accumulated, mustered strength,
as a swimmer bound for a point without
the thought of returning,
just give me a kiss from your lips,
snap reflex to these lips that land on
yours,
awake or in the dreamworld, where
too I am hopeful the twin of my image
too lives,
I depart to make a living for us,
while you anticipate a return neither
of us doubt will always, always without
failure, commit-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]