You love what you know. It's geography,
lock and key. The smell of perfume from a dress,
the small caress at school, from a hand you didn't know
before it touched you. Do you love because you are loved?
How many trees reach out and hold hands
with their lover? How many flowers
carry pictures, or write poems?
Who measures our heart?
Like coils, our wants could generate enough energy
from our stars, our constellations
of worry as we sling through the sunny day
wondering who will love me, who will love me,
who will love me?
