And I love you like I love
poetry. Because you are
complex, a tidy, precise combination
of many words and
memories and meanings.
And I try so meticulously
to pick you to pieces, to slice
your words into halves and quarters,
to dissect you until you are
clean, shining tendons and bones
of meanings, of feelings.
And you seem to come apart
in a heap in my hands. And
you lose some fragment of your beauty
when I pull you apart.
there are moments of quick inspection
when i see the fullness of you, when i take it all
in at once -- moments when I see each word,
each bone and meaning, and you are everything
I've ever seen in this world:
I want to see.