I weep Timelord tears, some times; that was then, this is now,
quiet droplets fueled by the heart of a dying sun, star stuff
I think Love is the truest black hole humans ever experience;
we find it and in it, that all moments, realized, are the same;
the paradox of forever becomes our curse;
to conceive of the thing that cannot be known,
only suspected, only believed, then,
to encounter it in our lives then,
to have all our beloved subjects pass from us in the plenitude of ways.
Still, once witnessed, we all stand upon that wet shore, that lonely, grey bay;
Brine and sublime, and inextinguishable;
one taste, one love, and the word forever is the last breath
exhaled, a finite, luscious ripple, resolving
as if the butterfly’s wing
Proximity is not permission. Access is not authorization. Identity is declared, not assigned. Even * said, “I am.”
Fair Warning: I’m nice until you’re not… FAFO.
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