Gwendolyn as Lover

We fix you maternally in the mind, orient you in a case of “tut-tut,”

“there there,” and “you’re young yet,” but how many times did

you posture yourself for the broad body of him or him and open

like home — his hands in your hair, your nerves rising kinetically

to the cupola of his palms? Lovers’ propensity for being a keep

and your saying (when you mean it), “I am yours.”

We fix you in the mind as bright-sighted seminar, dipping from

the source all that you know, but how often did your eyes light

in flirtation or fight, working from his getting your dander up to

his oval mouth there, there, your teasing tut-tut in arousing

admonition at what he was after, knowing, as you prepared

to keep him, that you were young yet and gleaning, gleaning.