the only argument

sweet-kneed wasn't made for you--
the barely woman girl alive
longer than i, and less learned (perhaps).
those joints remind you of themselves
and do not lend themselves to skirting
which you take so far as to avoid all that reveals them.
you do not appear to be aware
of the affection of the morning sun
gleaming off of the hair that's mine
but paler longer and only yours
nor do you recognize that your eyes
that see everything and your mouth
that leaves such rich and lovely taunting
("we tease because we love")
and your hands which do your bidding
which reflect life and more--living
all belong to me, same as your hair (paler longer),
and each day do prove equality and worth.
music calls you to me and you stand fast.
you (silent) call me to you; i go home to sing.
we could converse at length in lyrics only,
using their confusion and soucres' mouths
to say all things without responsibilty
or direct response.  you interest me--
sweetfaced, telling things i never saw
and never may  as we carry one another
without destination.  i have two things 
for you:  i am the one to better her beginnings
and my place between the chase
and weak avoidance
is smaller than i am by far.

olivia bitting 2000

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