She is in love with questions
And the lilting world of words,
With the fabric of philosophy
And the taste of fresh ideas.
She is in love with the smell of green
And the shifting sands in a desert of dreams,
With the hunt for profound moments,
And the hunger-lust for purpose.
She is in love with his poetry
And all his words cross her planet,
With patterns of chain reactions
And the way we cog and gear.
She is in love with pools of stardust
And fanciful notions of theory,
With darkness, deep and coveted
And the fabric it is made from.
She is in love with one who is writing these.
And drowned with the poisoned past he bathes in,
With being perpetually lonesome
And floating twixt life’s sabulous banks.
She is in love with memories, and the universe,
And Him.
With my choking heart, I’m grasping at dust,
And I am in love with her.
