An Absolutely Perfect Presence Poem by Lorenzo Costigliolo

I see,
in she strides,
the white-clad love of my life
sweet lover not my wife,
the aether air
too thick to breathe
as always, eternal,
she, almost maternal

her final word
a judgment
of her will.
Why stay? Be still?

To clarify peculiarities, solely,
she comes,
and certainly she will again,
no change;
the same.

All those minutes, hours,
convolutions of the brain,
left with the stain
emitted
all remembered –
all the same –
redone again.

now?
Why? Satiated
that depth
of lustfulness
engorged with passion.

“You’re still as beautiful,
to me, ” she states,
and thoughts of delighting her
inflicted me through every pore
as she sprayed Obsession
here, but mostly there...

(there’s no elegant way
of showing this, unforgettable.)

How herculean is the strength
of emotion,
of devotion
knowing one or the other
can save

lamb from the slaughter
the drowned from the water

and the “she” and “I” that forms a “we”
creates an absolutely present perfect entity.