You exist
in this space
beside me.
a warm 2 and a half foot
by six foot
existence;
a warm circumference left
when you get up.
I trust
that you still exist
when you are not beside me,
a child learning peek-a-boo
can guess about the same.
But is more comforting to think
for a time
that you do not exist
with out me there--
without my
permission.
Who are you
when not with me?
you are a different person-- ingauging
in different
relationships,
different observances;
different thoughts.
with out me.
this is when
idenity
and relationship
come to mean
separate things.
When I am
a parcel
of yours;
of you,
and you are a parcel,
of mine;
of me.
So I am
AFRAID
--there, I said it--
of losing what I have
of you.
But isn't it truth
that we never have someone's heart?
It is just on loan, a undefined time limit of ocupation?
Isn't it Truth
that we always have someone's heart?
a gift, with warranty, of an undefined limit?
Truth is, I have no warenty
on our hearts
We have no
loan.
Trust.
and love.
and faith.
these three remain.
