Wednesday, December 30, 2015

All The Numbers Between One And Two

I do not love you like the annual,
or the summer rose with its cast away petals
wilting under the dry sun or curling their edges
away from the chill breath of fall.
I do not love you like the snowflake
with its ephemeral individuality.
I do not love you like the rain,
not the single drop fallen in the ocean
or the slow motion treasure
captured on film as it drips from a goblet of jungle leaves.
I do not love you like time
rushing to getting away from us,
racing us to brittle bones and arthritis
forgotten memories and stories told over and over
to whatever children will listen.
They will all be children to us then.
I love you inexplicably
like this English language
that began as French and Anglo Saxon became lovers
as they conquered one another and merged.
I love you like this evolution
this assimilation of every culture into one beautiful, blossoming
compilation of sounds and meaning for every possible thought.
I love you in this way, 
which won’t lessen or not know how it feels about you
when the future speaks an English
you and I won’t understand.
I love you like these poems transformed into pure light 
and cast from our screens into the universe, 
rippling in luminescent waves beyond our spectrum
for an immeasurable eternity.

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