Why I love C so much

It may be that I constructed a C

only I can see and sense and want to touch;

And it may be that I have written a C

only I can read and feel and desire to sire; 

And it may be that nothing I have thought C was

is anything at all like C actually dreams;

And it may be I am utterly wrong to long

for a woman as fabulous and intelligent as I need her to be;

And it may be that I am ridiculously 

old and sold and bought and madly told;

And it may be that I will never get to embrace her

again, as twice I did briefly and fightingly and lovingly;

And it may be that I am as mad as a tattered tapestry 

of ancient tradition as I describe tales of railings wrought weirdly;

And it may be all of this, and it may be all of that,

but whatever the truth, listen to me the following words:

Just the thought of you, Claire, brings a step to my skip;

Just the memory of your face brings a face to my smile;

Just a second to my minute brings an [h]our to my life;

Just an imagine of raindrops falling releases a row of buttons undone;

Just a streak of your hair brings a happiness sheer;

Just a tad of belief – however half-taken! – breaks my old heart;

And just as you will never be exactly what I captured;

And just as you will never be entirely what I sensed; 

And just as you will impossibly be this portrait complete,

I care not one jot for the truth or not I paint: 

For it is you in your entirety I truly require;

It is you in your reality I have always wanted wild;

It is all the exceptions and all the intentions, and all the good faith

And all the bad taste, and those fabulous ciggies,

And those chips and chops and sops and sips, 

And those pints of view, and those points and moments and 

Scary events when one day we cross unvisited boundary, and

Hound our sexes, and make all kinds of intimate mixes

And maxes and minimums and mazes of terrifying love: that 

Love which rakes our shudder.

And if you are that shyer than I am, then believe me I

Understand the fear of falling in love again.

But if you care for a future with me at all, tell me in your reality,

In your gorgeous drop-dead entirety, in all the time you 


In some way, in some irony, in some strange curiousity,

Not why you could love the man I have left inside of me

But whether you want frighteningly to hold my hand and

Touch my cracked head, and terrifyingly take that leap

Of lover to lover, across the years that always will distinguish us,

But never shall divide.

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