your infinite image escapes my injury, as I steer closely to you
you move,
your sword, not sharply, but there, in the middle
I see your future
bent
in a million waves
of uncertainty
and I cannot bow
slowly
to bring you
relief
my love
you are lord
over my
urge
to forget about love
I have noticed you
like a single moth in a single season
and when that hot comes around
I remember your wings
I used to lather you
with my words
and chap my lips on them
but love
under the bridge
where the stars become vessels of imagination
I hold you
each song is a syllable I hold under my tongue
each opera
is a thank you
scented with venetian timber
all my rites
are just swatting flies
when it comes
to
how old this love is
all my chambers
crack
to stare at you
one glimpse
and I cannot look away
you have been my savior
even in a sea of dregs
even when you slipped away
and the shadow was etched
I have not forgotten
the sullen rowing of your true love
all those flowers dropped for torches of you
all that is sweet
willingly
leans overboard
drowning
for your acknowledgement
I shudder when I think you see me
my eyes cast out
but my heart embraces your breeze
even if you barely remember
I take your oar
and pull the boat over
to my
urge
it is not like me to surrender
oh, superficially, yes
but not really
I like to be wrong
much less
than I like being right
so I take my marker and cross out
all the parts about us
breaking up
the way I think of it, Beloved
is
that Pangaea
never parted
I Love You
Your Beloved
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