I wish she wouldn't
live so hard.


Why do epiphanies hide
for a couple and a half
of decades?

You should learn
that you do not love
everything you say you love.
You like. You like.
You like these things.
These mundane things.
"I love this song. These birds.
Your hair."
Perhaps you should conserve
your love. Your love, for when
it comes along.

I do not say, "Conserve the good times."
I do not say, "Bank your happiness."
I do not scream, "Tone down your passion."

By all means, be passionate.
But, BE PASSIONATE, if it matters.
If it fills your lungs and
pumps through your veins,
then do it. "DO IT," I'm saying.

You could be forty-eight thousand miles
from my space, my face, my space and face.
And though you are, I feel you and I save my
ten fingers, ten toes, my voice and bouncy tip-toes
to share my space with your face and space.

I feel you, though you do not linger.
I feel you, though you live your life.
I know you already.
I love you already.
It cannot be forced upon someone unsuspecting.
I do, I love you abounding and feel you with fire.