open letters: #1

I thought I found you then,
once when cosine was as inscrutable
as the ellipse of my heart.

Did you know,
and by the way this is true,
hearts become ellipses
when swollen with grief?

I'm six matches old now, six dashing bachelors
who I will not marry. Suddenly I'm a matchmaker's dream
and my father's joy. The foghorn of eligibility
is mine, a mantle innate to my kind the very earth I walk on
may be booby-trapped with marriage.

I don't fight your coming, Love, believe me I could be glad
if you were my clich. Just don't fight me
if I refuse to spoon with you
the first night.

Poetry by Arti
Read 1031 times
Written on 2009-09-15 at 14:35

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Rob Graber
Too bad 4 those 6 "dashing bachelors"--intriguing write, and a pleasure 2 C U resurface here!

Hi Arti. What a pleasant surprise!!
The chances of successful searching are directly proportional to the rarity of what it is we are searching for. The more we learn about what it is we quest after, the more likely we are not to try on things that do not fit and I suppose division can be exponential too. The complicated part is when the equation doesn't end with one single candidate ;-)
All the best Arti, and I hope life has an overwhelming balance toward the happy side!