Time and Love
The game of love by boys playing games of measurements,
A, B, C, D cups and 7, 8, 9, 10, hold little interest. Love
in the act of live, the very act of my living differs from being
in love, frozen to the changes within time.
I sing of you, even as you fight a cold, even as time
crinkles our skin, as a pack with life, not as a tool of seduction.
Songs walk around, and introduce you to their friends,
an elderly couple that was so lovely in their day. Our day
will pass, but always I remember your gyration citing
my imagination as you washed our dishes the third
time me met. Your back to me as your hand wiped
and your body move to a beat of promise. Baby born
later, fulfilling the call to reproduce has your spirit
and my nose. Your nose filled by a battle with a virus,
and I preaching to a half empty room. These days
pass the hidden nights of stolen kisses live in our love.
I take a different measurement, beyond expectation.
Let us filled the night beyond the imagination of boys.
The act of my being gyrates to the motion of your breath.