I think I may have waited all my life
to see this: to see you and me and us.
The contrast in the colors of our hands;
the foolish, tender topics we discuss.
I think I have been waiting to make plans
with someone who won’t mind me hanging stars
up where they don’t belong. Go get your knife
and cut my strings and let me float to Mars.
I know you’ll follow. Know you’ll come along
and be balloons with me. You told me so.
You smiled when you said it, so I think
it was a promise. I am safe to go.
We shimmer, multicolored, on the brink
of something special. Soon we’re going to fly.
I’ve waited all my life to be this strong-
to see us, with our colors, paint the sky.
I cannot conjure beauty out of text.
I do not have that gift–it’s yours alone.
I cannot make the English language sing.
But as you are sincere, I am direct
and I can tell you how you broke a stone
and brought forth water. Love’s a breaking thing.
I love you–you love me, this much we know,
though how much will be broken we can’t tell.
And I’m content, for broken isn’t wrong.
Not all things must be fixed, and some heal slow
and bring out beauty as they’re getting well–
some broken bodies heal twice as strong.
So take my broken verses to your heart
or crumble them to powder in your hands;
they’re yours for you to do with as you please.
Just know that I am broken, for my part
and you and God will have to help me stand
on broken feet, or kneel on broken knees.
If absence makes the heart grow fond
and you are never here,
it follows I should love you more
than if you always were.
But absence can’t contain your smile
nor emptiness your voice–
I’d have you with me all my life
if it could be my choice.
Roses are red (or yellow, or pink)
Violets are blue (or purple, I think)
Sugar is sweet (no argument there)
And so are you. (I wish you were here.)
Oh, we are young and time is on our side–
or so they say. Indeed, why would we doubt?
For we will never have to go without
each other. Even distant, we’ll abide
’till time brings us together. It’s a friend,
though it may feel like foe when we’re apart.
It’s time that brings us closer to the start
and time that separates us from the end.
Oh, let them cling to distant mem’ries past!
We’ll burn our time like torches ’till it’s done
and not regret it. Not if we are one.
What good are mem’ries crumbled into ash?
Ours will be diamonds, left so others see
why time should blaze before it slips away.
No tears or prayers can ever make it stay;
so let’s leave beauty as our legacy.