With my Beloved I alone have been,
When secrets tenderer than evening airs
Passed, and the Vision blest
Was granted to my prayers,
That crowned me, else obscure, with endless fame;
The while amazed between
His Beauty and His Majesty
I stood in silent ecstasy
Revealing that which o'er my spirit went and came.
Lo, in His face commingled
Is every charm and grace;
The whole of Beauty singled
Into a perfect face
Beholding Him would cry,
'There is no God but He, and He is the most High.'

Today,
I found that sweater you let me borrow.
It still smelled like you.
And breathing in the stale remnants of your cologne and sweet sweat,
All I could remember was the taste of the shell of your ear, and the way your letters slanted in your notebook, and how you loved rooibos and pancakes.

I still wish you were here sometimes.  

But,
I didn't love you enough,
And you wouldn't tell me what was wrong.
So I guess it was inevitable.

Someday,
I hope you find some fabric memento from me.
If you do, please find some peace in my faded scent.
Let every breath remind you:

*I loved you I loved you I loved you

Oh, Marcia,
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin
and sounds like a sunshine harpsicord.
I want high school report cards
to look like this: