you never knew about me:
i don't need you
to speak of love. in fact,
i don't need you to speak
very much at all. for:
not necessary to fall in love
to be fascinated by the pull
of muscles underneath your skin
or the intonation of your voice
or the shadow along the line of your jaw. fascination
is distraction, and infatuation in the form of you
is so easy to play with
for a little while.
i've said: i don't
need those three words from you.
i just want a glance, a look
that gives life to my fantasies of
the curve of your back
and the sweep and fall
of dark hair brushing your eyes—because i
can be breathless
without being in love.
all—you are not
my vision of roses and wine. you are just
champagne in my glass. one sip
—i don't need anything more to pretend—
and you dazzle me. i don't need
something deeper, something richer, because all i want
is fizz and sparkle, some effervescent something
much lighter than the air.
don't need your love song. not
that i would stop you—simply that
your kiss is far more beautiful
in dreams. your touch
makes for a lovely reverie; your serenade
is music to my ears, but
remember, please, that your love
is just a castle in the air.
kisses and courtships aren't worth
very much in today's currency, and dreams
sell for even less. and when you total
what's left at the end of the day, mine
is always the better bargain
in the end.
title and a thematic element or two taken from sara bareilles's song "love song."