Love Poem


Thieves in every town,
not thieves in every place.
Several bluewalled houses,
a stretch of road unmolested.
Some cowbirds shame their families, 
constructing their own nests.
A woman bore triplets
one of whom turned honest –
the one kept away most often
from her bruised white breasts.
The moon steals light, not the stars,
who are no doubt dishonest in their own solar
systems under different universal laws.
Thieves in our very blood
rob the lungs of oxygen
only to be waylaid themselves
as their caravans flee down arteries,
pumped by half-complicit hearts.
Of course, hearts are always corrupt –
Even yours, you most honest woman
who ever trusted her mouth
to my tongue to touch
and taste.

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