My love is too much- br it embarrasses you- br blood, poems, babies, br red needs that telephone br from foreign countries, br black needs that spatter br the pages br of your white papery heart. br br You would rather have a girl br with simpler needs: br lunch, sex, undemanding br loving, br dinner, wine, bed, br the occasional blow-job br & needs that are never br red as gaping wounds br but cool & blue br as television screens br in tract houses. br br Oh my love, br those simple girls br with simple needs br read my books too. br br They tell me they feel br the same as I do. br br They tell me I transcribe br the language of their hearts. br They tell me I translate br their mute, unspoken pain br into the white light br of language. br br Oh love, br no love br is ever wholly undemanding. br It can pretend coolness br until the pain comes, br until the first baby comes, br howling her own infant need br into a universe br that never summoned her. br br The love you seek br cannot be found br except in the white pages br of recipe books. br br It is cooking you seek, br not love, br cooking with sex coming after, br cool sex br that speaks to the penis alone, br & not the howling chaos br of the heart.