What choice of words
Or mix of memory
Could be conjured upon you?
Sugar-pie,
Moon-beam,
Sweet-cheeks?
Not even predictive texting agrees with me.
Would you have me remember that your skin smells
Like play-dough?
Your brittle hair, such a glad
Contrast to your soft face.
And then you mean the world to me.
My worst quality shines through
Even now -
Emotionally stupid.
You, somehow,
A Mythical Other
You,
A sovereign sex.
I look at how we talk, how we attempt
And guess what The Other means,
We both intertwine and combine,
Become parabolic prophasis, reborn in ambiguity.
It takes a moment
Before I remember my solitude,
Or decide once more,
Unclench my fists,
Feel the hot irons of tension release.
It's not self aware. It has no self.
That love is no commodity?
And If I would do my best,
If only I always remembered
That it was my own electrical impulses
I adored?
That those best suited to love
Would choose themselves first?
And as I remember, the Earth has gone full revolution
Twenty one times already,
Whilst six billion, seven hundred and seventy five million, two hundred and thirty five thousand, seven hundred and forty one eyes stare back, into the gaze of the
Burning desolation of the sun,
Celestial bodies who coexist with each other
On a small planet,
In the middle of nowhere,
Dearest lovers, bigger still than all of it.
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