it's been a long time coming

there's a poem in my heart that doubts herself,
like a broken smile before a camera,
like an old lover in arms of true love,
like a song without words,
but
when we lay before the newborn sun
i see that i was wrong to have doubted
us.

some nights, that's all you get,
doubt, as i lay
a dying white blob of flesh
in your arms
looking at the television set,
thinking of other women,
writing about
the past
the future
the best women.

but love is a very nice
thing,
right?