We see but We don’t (Easter Love)

I guess there’s not really all that much to worry about.

We are all dying, and everything is predestined.

My grandmother and grandfather are dead and soon the rest of my heritage will be gone with them.

Spread love while it lasts, while we last, while society and language languish into the past.

 

 

I guess I was mad for a moment, I came back to sanity and I’d dun’d know’d it.

I was mad at she and she at me and we just didn’t see all there was to see.

I to I.

We talked but harsh words and those words ended overheard and misunderstood.

Period, over-a conclusive conclusion, not convoluted with expectant prolongation of deceptive illusion.

 

I guess at the moment I am rich with marble counter tops and classic grand pianos, a charming brilliance of eloquence, alone I sit.

She seems to find me out.

She seems to not notice and go with the moments.

I haven’t the slightest clue so I won’t own it.

 

She’s 84, and she can’t poop or rather party, she is part me and partly alarmingly charming.

Surprising, huh?

 

Gift-wrapping the package which lacks all adjunct and adage.

I suppose this present is as appealing as a subpoena on Easter.

But we will be seeing ya, Miss Senior.

 

The desert looks friendly, alone and of plenty.

Lacking worms to devour the corpses.

 

The Twilight Zone does not crumble it grows as it rumbles.

Thoughts tumble as we tumble.

 

Above you sits the humble, below you we don’t know who, but the jumble is like a jungle of tongue-throws and bumbles.

She sits and mumbles as we sip the bubbles.

Only to know where I rest later, who I love later, what I become later, its all so subtle a wager.

And who’s to judge who?

 

In all time and all place there is only one thing to remember (even while staring into a mirror):

I love your face, for better , forever.

 

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