Those two recent posts of poems (somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond - E. E. Cummings + Love Sonnet 11 - Pablo Neruda) really hit the spot of how I'm feeling today, especially when paired with Amy Lowell's "A Lady," which I've included at the end of this post. Smitten - it's a good feeling.
One day someone will recite these three poems to me randomly and say these are his three favorite poems, to which I will then respond appropriately, "OMG. SHUT UP!" while smiling from ear to ear.
Where I am, I would probably settle if the person is just open to me reciting it to him and his respond isn't one of confusion or disinterest. I would settle for a warm smile as step one of adopting a cute baby together.
(Aside 1: Sometimes I see these really attractive hetero fathers with their cute babies and I want to join that club so badly, with their effortless style and charming fat.
(Aside 1.1:I have no idea where this yearning for parenting and companionship comes from; this is a lie. My mother pretty much pushes me to date a woman and provide her grandchildren as soon as I can. "I will take care of your baby. Do.not.worry." "Find a woman that fears God, and is attractive." I somehow believe the second clause is more important than the first clause because she had no qualm in shutting down the attraction (or lack thereof) of a girl that shared a picture with me.)
As I write this, I feel I should be more cautious for fear that my prospect husband might happen to drop that "prospect" prefix after reading this. But if he's a prospect, he'd probably understand. I hope.
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A Lady - Amy Lowell
You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord;
Or like the sun-flooded silks
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
In your eyes smolder the fallen roses of outlived minutes,
And the perfume of your soul
Is vague and suffusing,
With the pungence of sealed spice jars.
Your half tones delight me,
And I grow mad with gazing
At your blent colors.
My vigor is a new-minted penny,
Which I cast at your feet.
Gather it up from the dust,
That its sparkle may amuse you.
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