I know,
philosophically,
that its damn dangerous to put you on an altar,
to raise you up as some grand granite ideal,
that no flesh, bone, ‘n blood could ever…
–but that don’t mean I don’t want to tell your myth,
to read the tabs of you tip to tip,
and strum you long lost lyrics like Lyra
to let my lips brush the lightning of you I fell in love with,
that I trip teeth over toes with nightly,
weekly,
monthly,
yearly,
madly, if nothing, nothing else, madly in love with.
and it certainly doesn’t mean that I’m above,
worshiping you like some ancient god,
sculpting you like some greek goddess,
painting you like some vaulting landscape…
breathtaking, mythological, timeless.
I’ve loved you for years now.
I know of no one else who’d agree to marry me,
fast food in one hand,
no ring in the other,
and if that isn’t legendary…
then we need to hire new historians.
