“In thirty seconds,” the writing teacher said,
“write seven words
in an ascending sequence
that come to mind
when you think of romantic love.”

Mine were:

What if, when I wake up,
I’m in this body for the very first time:
life is new as light
for a baby at birth.

The memory threads of this body’s story
are woven, tangled, gnarled.
And now I’m tethered, like roots to a tree,
to every spent leaf and past-colored blossom.

In the Golden Age,
Love is consummated
With just a look.

I look at you,
You look at me…
Cupid’s arrows fire—

And pure golden light,
Electric sweetness
Flows between
Our shining eyes

We all pretend; some act it well…
We know what’s going on.
But can you claim you broke the spell—
the looking glass response?

For how we think, the words we say
are what our peers expect;