it doesn’t matter if it followed
a single night of passion
weeks of an affair
or a lifelong commitment
the consequence must be embraced
this stirring has its own life
a tiny soul to share and shelter
its own fate to pursue
deformed or stillborn
perfect in all dimensions
it doesn’t matter
once conceived the love poem
insists on being born
this one is for me
it sleeps fitfully on the page
a hideous beauty
with a bitter cry
that only i can hear
