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Poetry: Politics

 

Cousin, cousine


The French know best
the multiple variations
of the family dance.
They repeat themselves,
therefore, and I am left
wondering, what generates
between pale people
pale love?
              Beside such
clean and odourless flesh,
you are a declamation.
As a child, I slept in
my father's bed.  The sheets
retained his musk,
engulfing me in too much
heat.

       Like families in
the dance, we open ranks,
leaving enough space for
couples to come between.
I am left wondering,
what generates, between
pale people, pale love?
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