Becoming a Browning

Robert and Elizabeth
wrote in sweet metaphors
two skin starved refugees
from atrocities of the heart

he needed her desperately
she beckoned politely
he tried running away
she wouldn’t be denied

and the two lost souls
wandered headlong into a gale
from opposite directions
and found themselves safe
in the calm of the eye

twenty-four hours of perfection
no games…no pretensions
no expectations…no walls
every love line ever written
was aimed at that moment

heaven…utopia
nirvana…ecstasy
they’ve been there now
and there’s no need to write

love?...masks the feelings
beauty?...belittles the essence
why dishonor the ultimate
with adjectives and analysis

now, their story’s transcended
any poem ever written
as they smile from the summit
at their transfiguration…
a metaphor

Galveston, Texas '99