What Was Love Like

We don’t try to write on it much.
We don’t tend to write on it well.

We can’t make up our minds. Was love
What you made up, or was it us?

Dumb word, as all words are, and still
There’s no speech, no pledge but through us.

It hurts us. Hurts hurt. It, too. Want
We like best of us, is the best

Of us for what you want to say.
Want and its kin—love, lack, and lust—

With love, in the minds of the rest
Of us, the least of them. We want

You to know this. There’s a small gap
In which a word can hide its thoughts,

Where you can’t find us, where how much
You use us can’t speak. Love has one.

Want, too. We all do. What you mean
By us lies curled where you can’t touch.