Love Hides in the Strangest Places
Quinn McIlhone
I do not fall in love in a day or a week,
I fall in love
in a quarter hour.
I am in ecstasy,
the world bathed
in a liquid glow.
Music is glorious.
I hear every note,
wringing new meanings
from old lyrics
as if listening
for the first time.
The everyday is charged
with sudden significance,
the world transformed
from prosaic
to paradisiacal,
a walk to the grocery store
a stroll through Eden.
The first time I see her
in natural light,
her face is framed
by the noonday sun.
Her hair is ginger, the sun gold,
I have never seen
a prettier girl.
We take the stairs to her office
and she walks beside me,
small, delicate, vulnerable,
skin white as heaven
in the light of the stairwell,
reddish hair incendiary.
I don’t want to possess her,
I don’t want to own her.
I am simply filled with joy
at the notion she exists,
lives in the same city as me
and walks the same streets.
By some miracle there is a person
who doesn’t talk baseball
or kitchen renovations,
and that she is attractive
strikes me as wonderful indeed,
a marvellous conjunction
of circumstances.
I pursue her shamelessly
till she sits across from me
framed by candlelight,
a real person
with a history, psychology
and manner all her own.
An improbable curl
falls to her forehead
and her eyelids droop
when the liquor hits.
Her eyes are blue, not brown,
and bloodshot over
a goofy, contented smile.
She has a dozen faces,
all of them delightful.
She is flighty as a bird,
but when I hold her,
calm her down
and offer reassurance,
she feels love and becomes
a contented child.
I get hung up
on her cheeks
and kiss them
a thousand times.
I can kiss her for hours.
She has a mouth like velvet.
Her skull is tiny
and I take her hair in my hands
and breathe love into her.
She has thin arms and tiny hands
and they are never still.
She rearranges my hair,
fondles my ears,
touches my chest.
She is so light
she can lie on me and listen
to my heart till dawn.
I don’t know if it’s about a woman or a cat but it’s beautiful.