First - a prose poem
For ab
I've read happiness and the truth about pain in glossy magazines. Who.? Who is first? Who's the one?
We look back to our loves like books. “In this catalogue, you were the beautiful one.” “in this list you were the first to touch me in my room.” “you were the one.” “you were so funny.”
It says here you are first not any other else. It says here God is first. It says here the other precedes me. It also says one belongs to no-one. I think how can primacy and u r u universal revolving unity be socked all in one person? I untangle that at least there's two. The one and the other one, both the icon of one to each other.
I've heard the one for us be disparaged as a mindfuck. I've heard too whatever image of shared open cosmos and love as open mutual gift carding, the best exchanges – puts the struggle behind us. Tonight we walked the finest tracks sans fear or compromise. I've read too that nature is the final arbiter. Everyone hit the deck. The relativism of heart rate, pulse...
It's essential. If nothing's essential, your sunk dig at essencing is also an essentialing.
Is love the one?
You are the one for me. How can you know they're the one? Someone wants a few people so to reach the result of one or the universal constant of one and love.
You are the love of my life – you can read that as the other person representing the idea of loving your life; as you love your life. Any light can cloud over, when all is shit your lover disrobes this cover and the shattered beam now gleams bright; because they have love of your life and the struggle of clouds.
This is sleuthing. Identikits and Baker Street deduction.
Who? What about what. What/what? How to: find. How much and many how do you dos. Where and when?
How much?
Lots and lots and lots and lots.
How to?
In mutual parallel. Somewhere a gift.
Where?
Where scarce is just a spooky scare.
When?
Beforehand. Before I can use it. Before it even existed for me. Surprise me.
