bruorton | Love/sick

How is it that I recognize this stirring

inside, when it's been gone from my life
for so many years? A flutter, like the
briefest of zephyrs stirring a curtain
in my soul. Did I only imagine it?
Is it real? Do I want it to be?
How could it be, after all this time?
The rational voice tells me I should
play it safe, of course. Not to get too
excited about what might just be
my imagination. So I stand up,
but in only a few steps I know,
know for certain the
way the heart knows
true love the way
the ear knows up

from down I know

and I rush madly

madly to the john

to bring up every
thing I've ever

held inside.

Love/sick

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