They had both said it
Now, he confided,
As we walked along the street
Without his several-month girlfriend.

She first, surprising him.
If the woman says it first
She will regret her haste,
He explained,
Now it was done.

Agape, eros, storage, philia,
Ancient Greeks had four words for it,
That race of philosophers,
Perhaps still limited by their
Quest to quantify all they perceived.

Italians have a dozen words for it,
Hopefully, I like to think that
This race perceived as lovers,
Created a language that does not
Share the cardinal sin of English.

English, in a language full of crimes,
Nothing is as felonious
As having only one word
For love.

I love Mom, movies, friends,
I love lemon meringue pie, dogs, dad,
I love my house, god, backrubs,
I love New York, a good poem, my new pen.

Trapped with one word,
Attempting to embody
The most complex aspect
Of human existence.

Imprisoned with one word,
Attempting to embody
A dizzying continuum of emotions
In a romantic relationship.

Expression that easily escaped
Without thought as to breath,
Sticks now in my chest
When it comes to you.

What is the meaning of saying it?
That I am ready to spend the rest of life together?
Ready for an exclusive relationship?
Ready for sex?
Commotion spews forth.

Said too early, will I scare her off?
Said too late, will she fade away?
Once said, how will I express
New feelings if grown?
Old feelings if faded?

I ache to be Italian,
Or at least Greek,
However, I am not, yet
I loved her, as I love other souls,
Even before our first date.

I loved her, as I love bright spirits,
Even while we grew closer.
I loved her, as I love infinite possibilities,
Even with the first warmth of romance.

Refusing to be repressed,
By any one word
In my language,
"I love you."

We will figure out what that means,
As we go.