Y Love Life and Literature&;#063;

As the sky cast grey into my home and I sit trying to create
prose
I know if only I could describe you then I could show you how I
feel.

If there was a letter or a poem or a song that said something about
you
Then we could share the letter and we could share the moment
Knowing that what we know is somehow accuracy:
What someone else says about someone they love
And in turn you would know that I love you.

And if only every poem had meaning every line made sense
You would know how I pine in my heart to write for you

But as I have lost you though these trappings
From each prism we see another
Neither seems justifiable to be your own

If only you knew what it was to be lost without words
Without sense when that is all I have to construct you.

And if I were Barthes my fingers would be language
And we could touch and then I could enwrap you
And you wouldn't be scared that what I see in you
Is just pretence to write prose.

Because you would not know that in my vision is a drive
That looks back at me that writing
Just like me can't see through scopic invisible mimic light
And so as I pass over and know no poem
Because what I have learnt is that with you love
I might not myself and if love is blind then looking is blinder
And so is the paradox of life.