There is a chord at the center of me, braided
Of all that I've been, am, or even will be.
And I am built around it, eye
The I that you see.
I don't know what it is that you're trying to hold
When you hold onto me.
But I think you should know at least, what I'd like to be
A reminder, and not a rope
A door, but not the whole house.
My love is a thousand separate sentences
Perfect in their rhythm and their grace.
They do not know each other, each
Is a sovereign story
With its own shape and taste.
Moments outside of time and place,
Pressed into the page.
Like the night you met me at the door of the bar
You filled the whole space.
And I did not look away, though I could not remember your name
I stood still in your gaze, it was full
Of words outside of time and place.
When we said goodbye
I curled myself into your collarbone
A lover's embrace,
And remembered your name.
This
Is the shape of my love
Brief moments of grace, living
Outside of time and place
Pressed
Into the page.