Ovid, Amores, Liber I.iii
In 1973 we spoke
of Henry Kissinger
gas lines
and Russian Communism.
Huddled under paper-thin desks, we
kissed knowing that in the next 20 minutes
in the shadow of Winter
“at least we'd have each other”
hoping to last through Cold
with the raw passion of translated Ovid
iusta precor.
We trusted this practice death
as a lesson in relations.
Still, we must have known
that we were children
unable to grasp
our own foreign bodies.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Yay! Real poem!
Thank you very much.
oopsers. This is allpoetry ya know.
Not lost are you?
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