To Make Myself a Lover

How could I make myself a lover?

By dancing or sculpting?

Singing or learning a language?

For no earthly language exists of love,

That I am aware of,

It is not French or Italian,

And it is certainly not English,

Although a language with so many kinks,

And broken rules is appealing

I could, I suppose, learn,

Love from the lips by singing as a nightingale,

At dawn as I awake from my slumber,

With my lover,

As he plays piano lightly,

As he so enjoys in the morning,

After we have spent the wanting night,

In each other’s arms

Or perhaps I should become a sculptor,

And spend my days creating,

Delicate unfeeling beauty,

Out of cold rough rock,

Although I would never be able to create,

Something of such beauty as you

Maybe I should learn to dance,

And create a wondrous,

Sensual dance between the sheets,

In which we are the principles,

Alas, for we already are

I do not know how to make myself a lover,

All I know is, for you, my love,

I would learn it all

Perhaps the only true way I could,

Make myself a lover,

Is to love myself, my world and you,

My love, with all my mind, body and soul.

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