Paula Coroi

Do you want me to write about passion? About love?
About that feeling you get in the stomach
even months and years after that first kiss,
When you know she is yours or you know you are his
And you still feel those pangs of painful pleasure reach throughout you like truth -
Like truth.
And what is truth? It is that which I know when I feel it -
All their philosophy
(Now enter names of elder so I show I know the trade)
Can never erase that which I know,
Which I have and would have known
But for their writing and their meddling...
As if
Truth! ...
All of a sudden in your quiet (inner?) life
Had reached out to you, but could not grasp you whole,
Had only grabbed in violent panic
Your stomach and your soul,
Oh! Oh, God or whoever might now listen,
(Love and God and all, these foes of reason still
Drag on my tongue and talk against my will)
How would you speak of such unwilling treason
Of brain and cash over this silly season
Of feelings felt and brought upon the scene
By magic? (Read 'hormones',
Ours is an age of science.)
My love means nothing put against their toils
And never brings to them same as they bring their spoils...
And now,
If the world were to end,

With me believing in humanity at whole
As of emotion that we all endure,

If the world were to end,
If the world were to one day end,
It would only end because of our heads
Going over and under and against ourselves.