The Irrationality—LB Roland

Lying in bed
I wondered if
I could feel her kiss
through her chap stick
when from the blue
this thought occurred:
I’ve never known love.

………………..
She feels the love that I have felt
    —Thru my words!
If there were a hope, this is it.
    May these words touch her, or —I fear—
I never shall.

Billions of years ago
We were a singularity
Our mass was inseparable
Our matter was side by side
And fate threw us infinitely apart
Accelerating away, but we wound up here
Our set of molecules that occupied the same point
Materialised all on earth
And filtered down through the ages
Eventually spilling forth from our mothers’ wombs
And when my atoms passed yours
They recognized the companions they had known forever before existence
And they longed to be one with yours again
Let our bodies forever commingle as one
Let our bodies at death melt together
Let them ooze into one fertile patch
Let them flower the same plant
Let them feed the same tree
And as the universe wheels back to no dimensionality
We again become indistinguishable
We are one again for the eternity after existence

And perhaps when we are cast apart again
We will spend existence apart
Or maybe our own molecules we knew this existence will never come near themselves
And we exist smeared across the cosmos
Or maybe with luck we are thrown together into the same person so our love may not be physical
So that we not need the failing connections of human relationships for our love
Our love can be atomic through existence, an individual can have two lovers living in them, and
thus can be happy for all creation alone But regardless of the form we find us cast in again the universe returns
And we are one
So my love I tell you, we shall be one forever and forever
After the universe ends and begins, and time restarts each time
We are one
I am you, and you are me
And we love one and other and ourselves and all creation as lovers do
What beautiful intercourse has been carried on for æons
In and out and in and out
And we are all alone the only things in the universe
And the only things in time
And our love is the only thing there is
And our love is all there ever will be
What utter joy is there in this knowledge
That nothing shall stop us
That we have only forever to love

Beauty is truth,
But is truth enough?
I can’t accept these scholar bluffs.
I love the way her hair displays,                      
But I can’t help to think
that those locks will one day dissolve into rust.
So like this all things of beauty
Decay for all their sick display.
Wandering through this frozen maze of life
I see and feel so much beauty;
I am tempted to just continue that,
To seek that sort of joy all time.
And should all poems be to get me laid?
Shall I embrace the fact that all have felt
That sex is chief in all?
That a woman’s touch with a male response
Stands for all we want?
And so without shame we use our works
To bring these girls more closely?
Then my poetry is just a way to get laid
My clothes, my jokes, my way, my act, my friends, my stuff to help that.                      
It really bothers then that I can do that,
That I like all are brought to sex.
I’ve stared sex in the silky eyes,
And I’ve noticed something:
It is sad that I’ve not had it.
And so I realise somehow I’ve been saying these things,
Doing these things, albeit poorly, in vane.
I long to take a trip to all the good memories I’ve kept,
To attain this images I’ve seen in daily thought evoked,
To find a place unseen before.
I swear, I swear, the day I’ll die will be today.
Drink to me then.

I am not certain of the difference
Between what she has said
And what she has meant.
I know perfectly well what I have heard,
And I know perfectly the possibilities.
Either she says that which was said
From her nature, which is that which I have loved.
Then she would just be the crucible
For cruel fate and my tragedy.
Or! she speaks from unknown knowledge
And each word she has spoke is but one jab
Accumulating to the thousand injuries I have born.
No. No.. No… No….
I am glad to have loved such a subtextual beauty
For there is said to be more joy in reading
When the ink runs deeper than the page.

All souls are as wisps
Floating in our chambers,   
But more often than not
They are as gnarled ivory.
Mine was like ice,   
so she did melt it.
And it poured into every pour of my body.
Then it froze again
As thin and brittle as glass.   
I lie a broken shard
Who will never again have form
Even if warmed by some new fire.

“Blessed be the form
of former lovers,”
I say today
and each new day
I catch her eye
In others.

The word `explode’
does not inscribe
or describe or descry
or even just cry—
how it is I feel.

But I think `anger’ does.

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
    And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
    If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
    And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
    If thou kiss not me?