if the love were complete, there may be no search for iconography. awoken from the dream of you i have been awoken also to desire anew. to know you, to form you where your body graces not.
you have been the unmovable, the irrational depth of sadness, the vessel of my blood, intimate.
and yet also, you have been nothing but breath between my lips, the vapor which ghosts my skin.
i search to know you in other means. i have held cloth akin to your scent (for to me the color is indescribably your ether), i have sought words by which you become luminous (for to my rhythm you are verse), i have grappled with and never garnered you.
i realize, the comparisons which render my revisiting of you so richly, are my divination. these speak of metaphor, useless as it is accurate; not personage, imperfect, irreplaceable.
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