[poetry] Why I Write About Who I Love

A random poem on a sleepy Sunday.

~*~

No one writes a poem
For a poet, or about them,

And the only immortality
I’ll ever have is through the lines
for people I have loved.
But I do not mind.
If all comes to nothing, and
my heart is mapped
only by my own ink,
I think
it is enough.
It is enough to have been known
as someone who loved
enough to offer a forever,
wrought in ink and adoration,
on the altar of another.

It is enough to have that moment,
when lips and lines embraced,
and words kissed air
and as they kissed, consumed.

It is enough to know that
locked in time, and sealed
where memory cannot forget,
is a moment where breathed a me
and a you.

Fin. 

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