I loved you so before I’d even seen you in your nowly flesh.
Something in your picture softly spoke to me of centuries
of enmeshed complex close relations needing now no
further complications but the thrust of straight simplicity
and gentle searing scald of love which, although already
having bloomed and blossomed down those many years,
is still in need of modernising (most of all of harmonising)
if no further detrimental influence of history interferes.
I loved you full before I’d even looked you in the eye.
How come I knew so well that when we fully met and
held each other hard our little hearts would by default
be soon unscarred and soaring free and no more
cluttered by the prodding past would our bereft lives be?
How come I knew your lightbulb smile and even loved the
subtle tenor of your style which, all the widening while
had been ripening in preparation for our alchemy?
I loved you long before our bodies made an arc across
the centre of the sun with multi-coloured prisms bending
light while rainbows down the windows of the world
did run and, glancing through the corners of my face,
they found a space where angels made their clouds
unweaving sheaves and sterile shrouds of former worthless
monochromic claustrophobic bonds in which our selves
had then been found (or lost) and squandered undergound.
I loved you well before we pledged our naked souls to one
another’s crazy-paved unpigeonholed delight on that first
day and night when me (and my guitar) crash-landed from
afar and a tall man on a train intoned together both our
names as if he was officiating at some ancient ceremony
specially done to make two into one — although he merely
ratified what you and I have lived and died so many times
and now again this love we find: Our final chance to shine.
© 2012, Alan Morrison