It's a confession of being;
of living; of dying incrementally;
cigarette smoke choking, winter coats aflutter;
the way you laughed, listening to your mother's jokes.

It's ego, pure: supreme;
deciding, "Mine is the voice from which you will derive-"
"-and none may lessen, none may deride."
For these, our words, have worth for true.

It's the cruelty inherent to love:
infinity, bound.