Love: a Literary History
First came Love Story
with the profundity we pre-teens
lapped up: “Love means never
having to say you’re sorry.”
Our parents recoiled with rightful horror.
Then we read Fromm’s The Art of Love,
and explained it to ourselves
and each other: all I can now recall
is egoism a deux,
which does explain quite a few.
Next we all spied in Nin’s House of Love
excluded from the feasts
others enjoyed.
Hints of lesbianism and incest
but whose was that hairy chest?
Once I read a book that said Love
is God or was it the other way
around, or ought it not be a reflexive
statement anyway, if love is love
and God is within, without and above.
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