My protean soul transmogrified on the altar of your heart; what am I now?
I've watched homes construct themselves from our past incarnations and burn to ash in the same rainy afternoon.
You are forever unchanging. You are change, forever.
They are the same; the maelstrom I would smile and sing "Come Fly With Me" to as it ripped the nuclei of my atoms from the electron clouds that obscure them.
I am static on the television that almost sounds like Sinatra; a murmuration of starlings unaware of the beauty in their intricacy.
Our gestation was cut short; the television caught fire and the starlings lay broken on an elementary school playground.
You, to me, are the silence that replaced the staticky Sinatra or the wailing children that find the murmuring ceased for good by the monkey bars and plastic slides.
You are the reason for my loss of faith in the words gorgeous, stubborn, and coincidence.
I am contented for the moment by just knowing I breathe the same air as the flesh straining to contain you.