In the soft blush of a Michelangelo,
I try to find the words.
Only to find the endless depth
as I rise again.
You are I believe as beautiful as that birch tree
locked outside the window.
As the keys on the piano.
As everything. I did not learn
to tell time until 5th grade.
One day in fifth grade I became curious
to know when I would go home.
I am and always have been
separated by time. Left alone by algebra.
I adored school and classrooms, friends
and time to spend with them. I became
aware of the temperature of the morning
on the way to school. I was and always have been yours.
September 