This love is like upheaval
when I’m immobile,
frozen, stuck to the ground.
I cannot budge or even make a peep.
I have no voice, no power.
I am bowled over
by magical forces, I can’t control.
You are like a rattlesnake
with venom of sweet feelings and highs
so magnificent, mine is the sky.
But at this late stage,
I will never be naked again
to the fangs of lust,
nor robust love-making.
I want to putter in the kitchen,
make some tea, and be a good host;
to kiss only kitty cats
and smiling, slobbery dogs;
to haunt the ghosts of my past,
and excavate skeletons
of closets so tightly packed.