While we were all exploring our new sexualities
His stories handcuffed me.
From the rows of Tinder roses
His lips were like the Persian threads
Upon which I could sleep a thousand and one nights.
The Ezra Pound poem, The Encounter, is really challenging me to think about what Imagist poems can/could/should mean to this contemporary moment… where Image and objectification of Self into an image is the literal starting point of so many (most?) relationships today.