Kissing the Throat of True Love

The funny thing about true love,
a love for solitude, flesh, and bones,
a love for psychic dark matter
discarded for reasons heretofore unknown,
or a love of gallinules
with their fluorescent, purplegreen eyeliner,
innocence unknown to human companionship;
true love depends mostly upon whom you love
and who loves you
at any given moment
of any given day.

The funny thing about true love —
how do we ever know
whether or not the object of our undying affection,
a la Bouvier des Flandres,
or common black and white
curbside alley cat outcast for reasons
heretofore unclear,
except when human eyes
vapor lock on other hungry eyes
(excluding cats, of course)
sweeping isolation from the maddening crowd
of Fleetwoods and muscular Dodge trucks
flickering the halogen necks
of Alligator Alley herons nudging the final shards
of another dawn
from their mother-of-pearl feathers?

Copyright © 2009 Alan Britt All rights reserved
from The Bitter Oleander
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission