HOW DO I LOVE THEE,
LET ME COUNT THE WAYS
“It’s not that I don’t love you enough,”
He proclaimed as he lay on my bed:
“Rather I may love you
Too deeply for comfort, and
In quite an obsessive way...”
“Oh,” says I, and level on him
My admittedly amused eye
“How do you love me?
Shall we count the ways?”
“You love me that I comfort you,
You love me that I lift you
From your soul-deep mire,
You love that I awaken your desire
And bring you back
To a long forgotten fire,
You love the dizzy drunken pain
Of believing you love again,
You love mostly believing
That I love you just the same!
But oh my dear, that hesitation,
Wavering twix will and will not?
Tells me one thing I knew,
And you thought I had forgot.
You love me but a little
And yourself quite a lot…”
Oh but that, I must confess,
That is as far as I got…
He left, alas, and forgot his socks.
And the moral of the story is
(And don’t you ever, ever forget),
That her heart may be engaged
But a woman’s brain is not dead.
LET ME COUNT THE WAYS
“It’s not that I don’t love you enough,”
He proclaimed as he lay on my bed:
“Rather I may love you
Too deeply for comfort, and
In quite an obsessive way...”
“Oh,” says I, and level on him
My admittedly amused eye
“How do you love me?
Shall we count the ways?”
“You love me that I comfort you,
You love me that I lift you
From your soul-deep mire,
You love that I awaken your desire
And bring you back
To a long forgotten fire,
You love the dizzy drunken pain
Of believing you love again,
You love mostly believing
That I love you just the same!
But oh my dear, that hesitation,
Wavering twix will and will not?
Tells me one thing I knew,
And you thought I had forgot.
You love me but a little
And yourself quite a lot…”
Oh but that, I must confess,
That is as far as I got…
He left, alas, and forgot his socks.
And the moral of the story is
(And don’t you ever, ever forget),
That her heart may be engaged
But a woman’s brain is not dead.
Manuela Cardiga
No comments:
Post a Comment