- abigailburdess
Too Much Butter
Updated: Jan 12, 2021
This poem was written in 1998, I think.

Wherever past compare is…
I was there.
I don’t know what to call
this magical, I try
it butterflies under my eyes.
Just to eat the apple
and leave the fig leaves on the trees,
my eyes open and my hair down to my knees -
I would speak my love in Swedish
and in Cantonese.
Love held the mirror
and I knew I was a fool.
His buttertouch too much to bear.
But oh! to walk handholding,
unspool
into the cool summer night
and sniff the air.
Wherever past compare is
He is there.