Life After Waking Up A Little Late

My little palindrome,

My sweet comic you,
My favorite work of art;
Don’t change your hair for me….
Let me show you care for me
Even if I have to say it how it is.

It is not easy for me to speak
You must promise not to grow weak,
But I must say, how as it is,

We will never visit the Tate, or the Vatican.
We will never find a little bistro in the Ardêche and cruise on down to Montsegur to reminisce upon the ruins of what we always trusted to be pure. We will never sail the Med, even if I wanted to. You will never build me a house.

The aurora borealis will have to swim like oil on the cosmos without us standing there to behold its sway. We won’t learn the Tango. Nor the natural or reverse turns, or the heel pivots of the Waltz. We will be lucky to walk to the baker’s and back, arm in arm, exercising by pricks and sticks of pins and needles your withered skydancer limbs to ready them for a bed of cloud where the mind’s eye ranks amongst the stars.

Miracles may still occur – they are only mystic after all, and we can still allow the mystery to be mysterious.

Our way will be serene.

You started dying a long time ago. I can only love you as you are. In devotion. More alive than any experience on Earth can ever make me. Leaving you to die as much as you need to with a love that blows softly upon your solar windmill, your heart of gold, your red coat, bristling, not dead yet.

If we cannot leave as two together, we will meet again.
Die in peace. Take as long as you need. My love is constant; as you are immortal, and we eternal, in an infinite us. I ask only that you be with me when you remember the universe in which you can be.

If you have listened to me with the discipline of discernment,
In the face of death, decay and an age which is too young to be old, yet;

Oppressed and shackled by what is yours and not mine;
You care for me.

And our love will never have to become prosaic.
O - stay my little palindrome,
Stay and hear my voice open in embrace,
However harsh it is to live with what is;
In my song I follow the mellow tone of what I know,
Not what they have blindfolded you with.