It’s been a long time since I felt like this,
a long time. Is it you or me? I can’t
select a pronoun or convincing reason.
Can you? Can you explain? Can you at least
confirm that something happened? If so, what?
And how did that—whatever—change each day
so each day’s different now? Where is it hidden?
This something, who’s it hidden from? Not you.
You. You have everything. You’re beautiful.
You’re luminous, as beautiful as cloud,
as perfume, a piano chord, a flame.
You’re beautiful as reason: breathe on me.
Resuscitate me. Kiss me. Let me kiss you.
Let me see you—beautiful as morning.