The possession you’re not
And yet an appraisal, of worth beyond measurement,
And in that dimensionless horizon
You sit, holding a flag of my name,
A memento of, not just, how we became
Bed currents of primal savageness
But also, of our promise to keep our bodies,
In humidity-gathering anticipation,
When we started out 18 months before,
As little pits that needed filling, and look how
We ended up as each others oceans.
My love, just gaze at how we learned, that dyslexia, is just
A brief interlude of error-proneness, that with time, atones,
To the sublime honesty, of how to transcend,
One’s nagging fears, to be,
A little careless in our tongue tactics,
A little clever in geometries,
And outright foolish in how you grin,
At everything, that you do to her, and she to you,
And what else but shame, not to disapprove,
Anything and everything, while
Leaving nothing to the imagination.
