Of the Many Yous
What if every time I wrote about you another you was born? A you sketched from the lettered prose of my wants and dreams; each line of thought draws you into reality, every word solidifies a new face, new eyes and new lips, a crowd of you — an ocean of you as far as the eye can see.
I write so I might flood this world with your smile, so that in times of need I can drink the sea of your grace and be content, the salt of your soul mirrored and purified. Within you lies the many selves I seek; you carry a million, and a million more — more than I can ever count, too many and many more than that.
I only catch a glimpse. That fragile moment when you undress and reveal the whole of the galaxy, from the center to the end and back again; the eye of god folded in on itself, until I see myself watching you watching me, and we are lost and forever found in a moment that never quite ends or begins, but endures like a memory.
