self actualization and the myth of knowledge

i met you in words on a rainy day
not far from a broken down rail
we said things, lots of them seemed
right. This is love.

on the left shoulder of the wrong road
we paused to talk about paris in the
fall after the seine browns up a bit
too much. This is love.

besides the hair dryer's black
umbilical cord to electric blue
i laughed when you glanced back
at the tub. This is love.

what rated-x dream you slurred
behind the rising sun and soon
forgot - the shape of cock and
pussy. This is love.

"Don't worry," you said,
"I'll be home late. Leave
the door open."
last year. This was love.