Bonded

When will poets stop writing about love?! It's too damn complicated. Laughter is a more appropriate response than writing. Yet I continue the tried and true neurosis. Oh well--


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Bonded
Because we identify ourselves as outsiders
And are bonded by pains deeper than now
Our arguments over this and that pet theory
Seem trivial compared to love-gravity’s leash.
I’m sorry, you’re sorry, agnostic egos rage,
Then we slide into the heat happily blind.
Television babbles as we did a moment ago,
And whether we’re virtual or real is rootless.
We kiss, I rise then leave to write these lines
Before I forget, mistake agreement for union,
Variance for dissolution, as I’ve done before,
Will again, and die and old and lonely man.