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Description
The finest poem that I could write
is not of tongues, or lips, or hair,
or what I hope we do tonight,
nor how your name hangs in the air.

No, the finest poem that I could write
is really quite a selfish one:
whatever thoughts could keep me whole,
when half of me, for now, is gone.

The words themselves are lyrical,
yet simple, as most mantras are,
to cling as near to me as life,
when half my life has gone afar.

And in it, should contain each thought,
and feeling, rationed bit by bit,
into what's only best described
as a Human Being Survival Kit.

I love you now, and always have--
until my death, I always will,
and legacy, if kept intact,
will echo that I love you still.

We love as one when you here--
the Universe completes itself,
and should it try to interfere
the Universe can go to hell.

I love you.

Description
The finest poem that I could write
is not of tongues, or lips, or hair,
or what I hope we do tonight,
nor how your name hangs in the air.

No, the finest poem that I could write
is really quite a selfish one:
whatever thoughts could keep me whole,
when half of me, for now, is gone.

The words themselves are lyrical,
yet simple, as most mantras are,
to cling as near to me as life,
when half my life has gone afar.

And in it, should contain each thought,
and feeling, rationed bit by bit,
into what's only best described
as a Human Being Survival Kit.

I love you now, and always have--
until my death, I always will,
and legacy, if kept intact,
will echo that I love you still.

We love as one when you here--
the Universe completes itself,
and should it try to interfere
the Universe can go to hell.

I love you.