Falling In Love
You walk into a green and gold landscape.
The landscape is in a green and gold book.
Until now, you have just been looking, sensing, imagining,
but (and this is essential), you must now gaze upon
the frontispiece under the cover.
This page will be blood red, if it’s any other color
then you are in a fairytale.
Study that rouge, that scarlet, that blood,
if you don’t see yourself drowning in that red,
then you are not a willing sacrifice, you are a victim.
This is not a land that has anyplace on a map,
This is not a book that begins, it has a certain amount of
beautifully adorned pages, then something must die.
This landscape you have imagined for you both
is a killer, it beheads you.
If you are both headless by chapter three
then the story will work out just fine
until
you or her tire of the tale you are telling each other;
then the book will close slowly
but the ending is never closed,
like a genetic set of musical variations
you must keep returning to
it will play on,
even when you find
another book in another place.
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