My love is not a bird trapped in the cage of your fingers
My love is not a patient record of each of the starts in the night sky
My love is a wilder thing then this
My love is a lion's hunger as it devours another living thing
My love is the sound of music over a car engine loud and late
My love is the pancakes I made and then compost last Sunday
Because I love to dream and I can let a bad thing go when I must
My friend Robin told me they want to build the wood and hope foundation of love
From the ground up, add walls and a roof
But I tire of square shapes
My love is a language, taken, not forgotten
My love is the language of smells, I know it as I breathe but I don't have the words
My love is the language of a baby: new, full of potential, and utterly meaningless
My love speaks and I take pause and then
I shout what I hear to anyone who will listen because to be known,
For just a moment, is beautiful
My love is the wind and it is infinitive and powerful and chaotic and with time
It moves mountains
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