I would rather be the subject of someone’s affection
than its object.
Let your love for me, my dear, tell stories where
I am the hero and my hair flows free in a wind
of my own desire. Why don’t we swim together through a swarm
of bees that softly murmur a song that we wrote
together, on a winter day. Diving then into a bed of
freezing raindrops we will laugh at jokes that our hearts
had told each other. All this and more, my dear,
can be ours if only you see me as the
subject of your affection.
Now fast flows my poet’s mind to associations:
subject, subjugation, supplication, sojourn.
But of these, only one thing need be true and that is
that you paint me in the picture and not a picture of me,
that you tell me in the story and not a story about me,
that you sing me in your song and not a song about me
but a song about us, we two, we free.