Feb 2014
Chaos first was a primordial deity.
And I'm Ralph Wiggum on Valentine's Day.
Even if every girl in class gave me a card.
I still go home feeling less like Romeo.
Lying awake trying to make sense of
why their sugar just didn't taste so sweet .
Lying in bed like a nebula
waiting for all my stars to form.
Chaos
--the nothingness from which all else sprang
headfirst and heartfelt,
half-naked and handsome,
hook, line, and
halibut.
All of this.
Every measurable aspect of
every particle that makes up
every object set forth in motion
sprang from a void so harmoniously
as if the absence of everything was kissed
sudden
by the presence of something.
Often depicted with wings,
a bow, and a quiver of arrows--
Cupid
son of Venus--goddess of love
son of Mercury--god of trade
his story
almost identical in Greek and Roman
mythology.
His story about a couple of gods
so inherently human by nature
jolted by jealousy
dumbstruck by beauty
hellbent on immortality.
His story has been hallmarked
as red hot velvet rose petal fine wine
and symmetrical hearts
wrapped in tin foil red ribbons
bitter-sweetly sugarcoated
dipped in thin layer of chocolate
taste-tested and lover approved.
Remember that scene in Hook
where Tinkerbell leaves her footprints on Peter's chest?
Well that's you and that's me--
touch me where my heart beats
because I don't ever wanna be a lost boy.
I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story
with morals
and purpose.
I wanna have meaning.
You might say that Cupid found himself.
You might say that Psyche found her soul.
You might say that Tinkerbell was just faking it--
with the clapping.
Truth is
we can never know the whole story.
Problem is
we think we can
and act like we do.
So the only time we mean what we say
is the first time we say it.
Every utterance thereafter is just an attempt
at recreation.
I love you
is a paraphrase
that deserves three separate ellipses
because there's a lot left unsaid.
I (distinctively remember shadow-boxing with)
love (against a star-dotted sky anchored to a
moonlight so vibrant it can only be compared to)
you (and your tidal waves).
And that's where I fell
headfirst and handsome.
I (was punched-drunk by a kiss so breathless
that it spiked my dopamine to a volume
that can only be described as) love
(in that every time my nerve endings feel) you
(they spin themselves dizzy and dance to your science).
There was a moment
in the absence of everything
when I was kissed silent
by the presence of something.
Hold me to your breastplate.
I don't ever wanna go back to the void.
[2/09/10 - Revised 2/14/14]
And I'm Ralph Wiggum on Valentine's Day.
Even if every girl in class gave me a card.
I still go home feeling less like Romeo.
Lying awake trying to make sense of
why their sugar just didn't taste so sweet .
Lying in bed like a nebula
waiting for all my stars to form.
Chaos
--the nothingness from which all else sprang
headfirst and heartfelt,
half-naked and handsome,
hook, line, and
halibut.
All of this.
Every measurable aspect of
every particle that makes up
every object set forth in motion
sprang from a void so harmoniously
as if the absence of everything was kissed
sudden
by the presence of something.
Often depicted with wings,
a bow, and a quiver of arrows--
Cupid
son of Venus--goddess of love
son of Mercury--god of trade
his story
almost identical in Greek and Roman
mythology.
His story about a couple of gods
so inherently human by nature
jolted by jealousy
dumbstruck by beauty
hellbent on immortality.
His story has been hallmarked
as red hot velvet rose petal fine wine
and symmetrical hearts
wrapped in tin foil red ribbons
bitter-sweetly sugarcoated
dipped in thin layer of chocolate
taste-tested and lover approved.
Remember that scene in Hook
where Tinkerbell leaves her footprints on Peter's chest?
Well that's you and that's me--
touch me where my heart beats
because I don't ever wanna be a lost boy.
I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story
with morals
and purpose.
I wanna have meaning.
You might say that Cupid found himself.
You might say that Psyche found her soul.
You might say that Tinkerbell was just faking it--
with the clapping.
Truth is
we can never know the whole story.
Problem is
we think we can
and act like we do.
So the only time we mean what we say
is the first time we say it.
Every utterance thereafter is just an attempt
at recreation.
I love you
is a paraphrase
that deserves three separate ellipses
because there's a lot left unsaid.
I (distinctively remember shadow-boxing with)
love (against a star-dotted sky anchored to a
moonlight so vibrant it can only be compared to)
you (and your tidal waves).
And that's where I fell
headfirst and handsome.
I (was punched-drunk by a kiss so breathless
that it spiked my dopamine to a volume
that can only be described as) love
(in that every time my nerve endings feel) you
(they spin themselves dizzy and dance to your science).
There was a moment
in the absence of everything
when I was kissed silent
by the presence of something.
Hold me to your breastplate.
I don't ever wanna go back to the void.
[2/09/10 - Revised 2/14/14]
