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Sarah Arvio – Ⅳ






I am nothing if I’m not a lover,

A loved love; we are nothing if not that;

I wasn’t but I am if you’ll let me


be your amphora and your amulet.

For there were days to live and days to love,

meaning there was still a lot of life left


for us, for me if you were there in it,

and maybe you would be and maybe not.

This was the question for me, of our amour,


our armor, the mind and body that we

wore, or were, the armor of our arms and

more, the morphology of our armour.


There was only this life, this love of ours,

together as we were and as we are,

armed and firing in the line of fire.


We were amateurs in the art of love,

you ami ami and me, you and me.

Here was shape-shifting in the truest form,


meaning more than form and more than us,

rubbing the stones in our pockets for luck.

Those lucky in love were lucky in life.


A great view of the city lay below

this statue to our metamorphosis,

a monument, my love, to love not war—


ambling arm in arm, drinking up the night.

Think if they made statues to love heroes

returning from the Campus Martius.