Big Love (a poem by Vince Bauters)

If you hate yourself you can do anything.

Maybe not talk to me for days. A real
accomplishment. Like mountain climbing or something like

locking your keys in the car.

It’s the right feeling. I know this.

Already we’re trying to soothe each other.
Swallow and dream. Like a baby dropped in water.

Or maybe a bag of garbage. Maybe just
an open window. The smell of July and lemons.

We’re real by contrast.

Green wine bottles
and crystal glasses. Your body

yellow like iced tea left out in the sun.

It’s like a long list of things that are supposed to go together.

Not just our wedding gifts. Not just the way you go
to sleep barefoot. It’s just necessary.

Our bodies ruined by someone else.

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