the romantic illusion

A ROMANCE


I imagine the first glance:
Quick like the eye of a bird,
Moist like a deer’s
Expectant like a child’s
Full of wonder and curiosity, newborn.


I imagine the first closeness:
The furnace of your body palpable,
Your hair lightly visible around your breasts,
The slight perspiration over your lips, slightly parted
Like a waiting door, fresh painted.


I imagine the first words:
Intense breath and mellifluous
Vibrating from your lips,
Flowing, flowing in waves,
Washing my mind like the ocean
Rinsing the shore, redolent with life and expectation.


I imagine the first touch:
Your skin smooth against mine,
Your cheek brushing mine softly,
Your fingers playing enchantments on my wrist,
Your hair falling like a net lured
With promises, sparkling in sunlight.


I imagine the first kiss:
Hot, soft, pressing and drawing me
Simultaneously, spontaneously
Into your embrace, into the core of the furnace,
Into your wild and full self,
A drowning into the pool of firsts and forevers.



Published in the Tampa Bay Review, Fall 1989

I wrote this poem on a dare.  At the time, I was working as an academic dean, and a female teacher who was married to an unfaithful man began flirting with me.  I was in a committed relationship and had no intention of doing anything, but I was sympathetic because of her situation.  She asked me to write a poem about love.  I wrote this, but it is a stealth poem because although it seems to be about romatic love, it is a deception.  The title "A Romance" if read carefully is the opposite of romance just as amoral is the opposite of moral and abnormal is the opposite of normal.

If not read carefully, each stanza seems to encompass a step into romantic love, but the first words of each stanza are I imagine, so nothing is really happening; it is all imaginary.  The final line, A drowning into the pool of firsts and forevers, is a final assessment of "a romance."  What rational human wants to drown in anything?  A drowning is an excess, an overdoing, and can mean the end of everything.  A pool is a collection; it can be a collection of water, but it can also be a collection of experiences--in this case romantic experiences.  The implication is that once again, but for the first time with each new lover, will come the enveloping romantic love in which one becomes infatuated with love itself, so one speaks in "perpetual hyperbole."*

*Perpetual hyperbole is from Sir Francis Bacon's essay "Of Love."

Having revealed my thoughts about romance, I can still enjoy love narratives and poetry.  Here are some of my favorites (most of these have been made into movies) :