Rom:  …Then love-devouring death do what he dare;
It is enough I may but call her mine.
Friar:            These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite.
Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

– W.S. R & J 2,vii 

i flipped on Baz’ version of R&J
nd half paid attention
treating it more like background radio
not having a radio here

these words leapt out
for some fairly obvious reasons

and reminded me of every old love
(and one or two)
(particular painful)
(in particular 

fire and powder
as they kiss

The second line of final couplet
strikes me as forced

(but i’m probably just resistant)
(to restraint)

Meditation on the Plums II

She is thinking of the tart, thumb-sized plums
they ate together, and of one in particular.
Unremarkable, except it was the last he gave her.
Of what it was, to stand in the small stone
kitchen, tasting the bittersweet strings
of fruit clinigng to wood. The intimacy
in those ruins. Saying plum and not yet
meaning heartache. Letting the ordinary become the last.

 — Sarah Holland-Batt, Aria p56

La Infinita

Ves estas manos? Han medido
la tierra, han separado
los minerales y los cereales,
han hecho la paz y la guerra,
han derribado las distancias
de todos los mares y ríos,
y sin embargo
cuando te recorren
a ti, pequeña,
grano de trigo, alondra,
no alcanzan a abarcarte,
se cansan alcanzando
las palomas gemelas
que reposan o vuelan en tu pecho,
recorren las distancias de tus piernas,
se enrollan en la luz de tu cintura.
Para mí eres tesoro más cargado
de inmensidad que el mar y sus racimos
y eres blanca y azul y extensa como
la tierra en la vendimia.
En ese territorio,
de tus pies a tu frente,
andando, andando, andando,
me pasaré la vida.

Pablo Neruda

c.f. this 


I think it’s the combination
of the sentiments contained within
A Place to Stay and Patience Darling
that make me wonder…when…

When you’ll decide I’m not on your boat
Or wearing the right uniform
That I’m not one of the good ones
Because once I was there, then wasn’t.

I’m hoping that that doesn’t happen
But there really are no guarantees
You might invent any number of reasons
To fulfill your beliefs as you please

So all I can do is my best
Which really doesn’t feel much
But I’ll love you the only way I know
And hope that it’s always enough.


– Natasha Agafonoff