From the kitchen
(for F.)

My blonde girlfriend and I.
are like two big apple trees
firmer and lovelier than ever, in bloom,
before the orchard is harvested.

When we get together, for instance
to talk about the best kept lady secret
of all time, or about how we
abide by the laws of the world,
continuously, and why. 

She tells me that we are afraid 
of our own power.
And indeed, afterwards I sail down the stairs
with joyful and increasing fear:
What will be my big enterprise for today?
Which cold undeniable truth am I going to reveal?
And when, because I'm on fire,
am I going to wage that war?