What are the levels of love and does my madness
in this most insane of romances that you turned me to
exceed yours now that days and weeks have turned us
into old news, no longer freshcut stems and first kisses
when I would run to you, get to you, do anything even turn traitor
to myself, the blood in my own veins, just to see you
be with you have a precious poured out vessel of seconds with you...

the diving heart has long taken over and if you had only known
me better when you made that precocious decision to kiss me,
to love me as best and as limited and expansively as you knew how
then you would have known my flightpath and been wiser
to the speed with which I descend into love and plunge beneath
its ocean shores to temperatures and barometers and weather
that you did not know I could call into my mouth.

aftermath pensiveness will take me to darker doors
where I question with sharper swords and become less
and less sure of you, turning inward wonder to questions like
what levels of love have we driven me to
by eagerly fanning the flames of this incorrigible fire, and
when did I pass from affection to sheer consuming attachment
and anchor my bones to you in every way I knew how to.

I know very clearly
that it was when I realized the stark silver truth in the thought
that this is too precious to lose even a second of song.