FAITH, HOPE, AND…

 I always feel calm in a cone of lamplight, fabricated evening. You or him.  The cat’s in the window chirping back at birds.  It’s not a friendly chirp.  Him or you.  If I’m looking to my body for answers, the answer is clear: my vagina actually opens like a set of automatic doors when you’re near.  Imagine standing there “mmm-hmm”-ing along to a conversation.  Goddess Aphrodite, what is love? She replies, You are opening.  Imagine trying to sit quietly in a folding chair.  Chir-irrr-irrp! declares my cat, whiskers spreading like wings.  If I am a set of automatic doors, you are a fire door, the color of danger. Cat, what is love?  He replies, Sometimes my voice is a mirror.  You’re a fire extinguisher, bottled velocity, and is it an emergency?  Emergency.  Upstairs, my boyfriend flicks the lighter of a poem.  Goddess Hera, what is love?  She replies,  A hearth that must be stoked.  Molten skyline, and I am attempting zen while a predator at my shoulder whispers, Feathered thing, you are my food.