More Love

More love rolling in on butterfly wings
a temporary series of events
in which good luck, or God, or both,
swing the tide into our favor
like a transfusion of new blood
where the body is restored amid defeat
and we experience something
resembling exalting

more love

love that comes like a Molotov cocktail
exploding while we debate the property rights of one’s heart

the body belongs to the state, to the employer, to those who
can turn a profit off another man’s labor

the right to exist is determined
by the extent of one’s contribution to society

and during this hideous proclamation
an old man stands up and has
the audacity to ask,

“But what about the soul?”

to which a small riot ensues as people
battle over the right to club
the old fart into submission

more love then…

to calm our guilt
to forgive our trespasses
to justify our tears

more love

so I can sleep at night
and feel comforted
by my choices and the need
to kill myself is dumbly muted

more love

because this
is only a murmuring of love, pushing
up through street cracks
tickling my ribs
bellowing like a lazy lion through dusty screens
sounding across skylines where clouds
act as partitioned walls
to damper my heart’s affection

more love

because this
I’m afraid
and never will be

– A. Ramirez


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