The wounded corporeal rises
A smidgen higher, occasionally
Unrequited love felt, real
Love acknowledged and uttered accordingly
Momentous, in its open cage
Terror swaps sides seemingly
Fear of no love, pretend anguish
Rips stale language, old inequality.
To see in closed eyes a face, perhaps
Your face; joyous, non-begging.
Out, somewhere safe by quiet trunks
Somewhere in sparse unairing
I remember you all, as I’m
Walking, resting heads, bosoms
I remember that your love is never
How I imagined, though always better.
Poem by James P. Quinton
Novel 