I love you, I love you, i do

I love you, loving for reasons that I could not word

I love the way you simply exist

in many forms, in many ways, in concept

sometimes I love without even having met you

my love grows in flower boxes, in windowsill’s in winters

summer, autumn, fall, and November

my love is seasonal, yet still quite unending

unending, unbending, unwinding my foolishness

love can be cruel but love can be gentle

it can cradle your hand, or land you under steeple

pleasure to displeasure, our untimely death

love mourned by lovers at cemetery endings

hold my hand until I might collapse

from the overbearing weight of my own heart

this will surely be my undoing

this will surely be my last breath, truly