Speaking to her
Freezes the brain
With a warmth forgotten
From an age of ice

She tells me so much
About myself
It's a sad story
Filled with luck to one who
Found something more terrifying
And almost as beautiful
As all she is.

Blessings
Shook me in her words
Faith
Filled me,
Separated me
Pasts were forgotten
She brought me future.

Maybe I'll tell her,
I've done scarier things
Faced monsters
Walked for years
She scares me more than the life of a beggar
Than bullets
Than more torture.

I know
I want
I need
What she has

Between volumes and syllables.
From a piece of paper
Folded with smitten hands and
Hidden between

Books of lesser interest to a
Young heart in first love,
To the isles and isles of scrolled
Knowledge lost in the blasphemous

Fires of Alexandria, my story
Remains only for as long as I
Do. Punctuations and dreams
That will forever matter less to

Another than their own. My
Story is my doing. My being.
My loves and dislikes.
My failures and successes weigh

Exactly as little as names of
Kings and gods long forgotten,
When printed with other drops
Of the same ink as theirs.

I love my girlfriend's answer
To questions of an afterlife:
*"I hope it all ends when it ends.
I have been given enough.

Give my space to other souls.
All I am; all I have,  
I am comforted to think I only
Borrow."