it is 1
am
and i am sitting here imagining everything i would tell you
if i weren't locked behind the bars of a typewriter.
like how the luckiest person alive is the one who gets to hold
you
at five in the morning surrounded by dimmed orange and pink
rays.
and the one who gets to listen to the conversation your lungs
have with the atmosphere
and feel the accordion in your chest compose a softer ballad than
bach.
i would say how it is as if every wonder the world has to offer
has been
combined together to create the shape of your nose and the sound
of your sighs.
and let you know that if mathematicians were to study each of
your freckles
as i do, geometry would be a much more complex subject.
r.m.
