No Poem Deserves a Title

I glide past the staffs

and the nebulas and ledger lines,

Sliding past Pluto's touch 

                       and your arms.

Skimming the surface of the unknown,

I'm lovingly held there, suspended,

before I plunge in,

immersing myself beneath the tides of

everdom, searching for an infinite

beyond these chords.

When I close my eyes, colors

flash along my lashes

and jump into my vision,

silhouettes of you in glowing shadows.

With leopard vision I seek

the One with zebra stripes,

but am surprised to find Him

painting stars on my heart.

Unlocking it, I let him enter,

and he kindles a fire that

burns in my hair.

I let you play for my deafened ears,

but all I hear are rests, for

your tempo ran away

with the fermata,

and you are left holding nothing

ever since you decided you had a

different melody, and harmony just

wasn't your cup of coffee.

Still burning, the comets

run through my veins as I

meander along the coast of the

seventh galaxy,

thinking that "Hallelujah" is just

the most beautiful word.

I bite my pen as I think.

Returning to the coda, I trail

an eighth and some quarters,

wondering if you read the notes

I've left behind,

back when you still loved me

and the rests meant just as much

as my running.

Oh, you know I ran to you,

the kindling still between my ribs

as our teeth clanked together,

and as I dreamed in

black and white,

Love,

                          you said you did, too.

But nothing could convince you to stay.

So I left, and now He has

me, carrying me beyond the

vibrancy of the planets in their

sleepy turning. Every planet

is a giant, believe it or not.

                and I still love you, believe it or not.

and I still love.