Know What
I'm Sayin'??
Thursday, June 22, 2006
I Don't Tell My Wife She's Beautiful
My Wife.
My Chosen.
This Creature.
This Gift.
Doesn't make me happy.
Simple happiness if for children.
With childish wants and childish needs.
And childish concepts.
Like happiness.
My Partner.
My Mate.
This Creature.
This Gift.
Doesn't bring me calmness.
Candles can bring calm. Oils and incense.
A taste of warm milk, they say.
A little breeze across a wide field. Is calming.
But not my wife.
Vigor.
They have pills for this.
A nap, perhaps.
Exercise. Of course.
Adrenaline. Testosterone. Esprit.
But my wife.
My...my muse.
My protection.
This Creature.
This Gift.
Brings me.
More.
A profound convergence of the purest joy.
My most peaceful moments.
A source of infinite verve.
This.
Beauty.
Beeyou - tee.
These two sloppy
uncoordinated
graceless
syllables.
syllables.
Utterances.
Pale.
Shrivel.
Recoil.
Fail.
When tasked to represent her.
Malfunction.
Struggle.
Flop. Flounder.
When cast in her direction.
Don't show the right level of respect.
And so I discard them.
Instead
I revere.
I gaze into nothing and imagine.
I note how colors brighten in her presence.
and the flowers bow in her wake.
I conclude past souls must keep vigil over her.
I despair until her return.
Pretend I don't hear, as to again hear the music
that is her voice.
Instead, I do these things.
To honor her.
My Wife.
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