maybe we're not meant to understand
why love overwhelms us
not only emotionally
but physiologically
its a place where we can melt
into another in ecstatic equality
sensuality is where spiritual
meets biological
how can it ever be promiscuous or wrong
when it shouts down anything else
that might be
on troubled mind
when its the necessary, final ingredient
in reproducing
more love
than we ever imagined
worthless
not everything has a price
either on the hedonistic
or spiritual end of the stick
not every truth has a consequence
or even
a flexible interpretation
some things are what you see
& others
what you make them
some things leave behind blisters
scars, even blood
without a reasonable explanation
it makes you wonder
how sometimes everyone can sit there
stone-faced
& other times
even the porcelain
is weeping
mark hartenbach is lost in appalachia where he makes daily offerings to
saint ishmael, the patron saint of the misfortunate, misunderstood,
misjudged, mislead & misbegotten. he is currently in love with a woman he's never seen, met or imagined.
