From Dylan to Donne, there is a unique universality that is innate in love poetry. I mean, who doesn’t adore a good love poem? Since this is the love and sexuality issue, here are four poems from four undergraduate-student poets at the University of Saskatchewan, reminding you to gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

 

TRAPPIST
by Ky Mason

Somewhere out there, in the beautiful vastness of space, in the incredible galaxies and far beyond, in the mystery of existence itself,

I like to think a little alien is holding its darling lover the way that I am holding you.

A little alien that would be fascinated by how our strange arms can wrap around each other,

A little alien who sees its lover in ultraviolet hues, on light spectrums we can’t imagine,

A little alien mystified by the idea of a creature like us, falling in love with every cell in our squishy beings.

Somewhere out there, in the stunning solar systems, in the strangeness of each space rock, in the unquantifiable nothingness peppered with just a little magnificent somethingness,

I like to think a little alien is loving like we do, at peace, and soft, and gentle, but maybe a little different, too,

A little alien unafraid of loving, who doesn’t shake as they introduce their sweetheart to their friends, family,

A little alien who exists somewhere, it’s loved like we aren’t, who won’t get weird looks and whispered jabs,

A little alien that wouldn’t comprehend why we let go of each other when we see someone we know,

Somewhere out there, in the intricacies of galaxies, in the wonderful, monumental worlds beyond us, in the unfathomable beauty of it all —

I like to think one day we will love like the little alien — fearlessly.

 

Ten Confessions of Being Infatuated with Your University Professor
by Lo

Ten
If the age gap is less than ten years, it’s fine right…?

Nine
I fucking love yo—urrr method of teaching

Your voice is a fire alarm in my mind, I rush out of my house in the morning because I am not going to be late to your lecture

I am on fire to sit in the front row

And I am HOT for your knowledge

Eight
I looked forward to coming to your class more than any other class

Seven
I was expecting my professor to be old

Six
I promise I will never be a kiss-ass in class, but I wouldn’t mind kissing your ass after class

Five
My academic evaluation form is like a love letter missing rose petals and lipstick stains

Four
When you winked at me during the final exam and I knew it was a “you’re gonna do great on your final exam” kinda wink

But I kinda wanted it to be a “you’re kinda cute” kinda wink

A wink that was kinda like an “I’m undressing you with my eyes” kinda wink

Three
I could listen to your voice for three-hour classes

Two
We have two mutual friends on Facebook

One
I only had one class with you, but I would take it again if I had $700

 

 

I’m Sorry I Sold Your Gear for Drug Money
by Ghost Note

I wanted to tell a story tonight.

So I made myself a cup of tea and sat on the downstairs couch.

I cried for a few hours —

this is where all my best stories come from.

 

There are load-bearing walls in my brain

that I’ve desperately tried to demolish.

But you are a fine foreman

and I don’t want to disappoint you.

 

“You are doing it”

is a rallying cry

for an army of one.

If I could have my way with the world I would see myself with your eyes

or you with mine.

There is a discrepancy here

that feels immoral.

To think so highly

of those who curse your name in heated discussions

of those who bring about fire and brimstone with the touch of an angel,

fallen from grace

of those who do not build.

of those who plug their hearts into dead bathroom sockets

of those for whom brightness comes so easily

of those who scream

and curse

and yell

of those who will tell your stories when you cannot,

to put so much trust in them

when so many others have been let down

 

This is worse,

than all the demon clowns I could make up in my sleep.

These are fourth-grade, camp-cabin horror stories

half remembered,

half asleep,

but still afraid of the real threat of ghosts stealing your breath during the night.

This night is not unlike any other

I’m still crying

I’m still broken

and you’re still there for me

which is more than I can say for myself

so here we are

 

I’m sorry

I’m sorry for the days where you saw something moving inside me

I’m sorry for my moving of the tectonic plates I’m sorry for my road trips

I’m sorry for getting angry about taxes

I’m sorry for passing out

I’m sorry that I’m easily swayed from the righteous path

I’m sorry

that you have to look at me,

and pull me up from this pit,

when all I want to do is sink,

wallow,

and slowly descend into nothingness

 

If you saw an earthworm

sitting on the floor

of your favourite coffee shop,

would you pay it any mind?

Or would you just

not.

 

There are magnifying glasses that are sold with dictionaries,

fonts too small to read

and you have the audacity

to order a chai latte,

rewrite your resume,

and rant about the sun.

 

There is an equilibrium

of sorts —

creation and destruction.

You are the fish,

and I am the bear.

You are the well-constructed fortress

and I am the opposing soldiers

and yet

you lay down your weapons at the gate

and allow me to reign free.

 

 

Cardiac Love
by Blake Graham

O my blood’s like a red, red rose

forming puddles in early spring

I let my arteries close

removed Desire’s heart-burning sting

 

circulation declined

to my eyes and feet

explained why love is blind

and my knees go weak

 

I felt chemistry betwixt biology

soulmates via arterial connection

let love pour through capillaries

perform aortic vivisection

 

you plucked on heartstrings

a venous violin caused murmurs

an arrhythmic beat sings

how absence makes the heart firmer