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Lithe Love
your sweaters & your white & red
scarves & your stockings & your panties
(made with love, said the commercial)
& your bras (there’s poetry in
such things, especially when you wear them) -
they’re scattered around in this poem
the way they are in your room.
come on in, reader, make yourself
comfortable, don’t trip over the
syntax & kicked-off shoes, have a seat.
(meanwhile we kiss each other in this
sentence in brackets, that way
the reader won’t see us.) what do you think of it,
this is a window to look at
reality, all that you see out there
exists, isn’t it exactly
the way it is in a poem?
Herman De Coninck
