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Poem

(Subtly,
 
There is that which is
That previously was not,
 
A singular globule speck stemming from the void
Which by pure happenstance crossed into being,
It is almost nothing in its smallness,
 
But in its quiddity, it is everything.
 
Well, obviously it is quite negligible compared to things so easily perceptible -
Those sorts such as politics, or arts, or flood, or food,
       Or even our foolish talk, and laughter, or
            Even that way that you crinkle yourself a sneer
            To try and shrug off the awkwardness of my compliments.
But colossal enough it is in proportion to an entire cosmos of things that never-ever-would,
       I mean, for such a thing to even begin to be,
       And, believe you me, it is,
 
And what would it be to you if you knew that
       At some point in time, those compliments have purposely been quite awkward?
       For you see, it happened
           that there was this thing that previously never was.
 
And still,
 
Despite it being just a small insignificant thing, 
Quite nothing really,
 
How I cannot ignore it,
 
Parce que il y a 
      There is still something
 
Existing even when my eyes are closed in the darkness of night,
It makes all the spaces in between quite massive,
 
For, perhaps, maybe, it is, precisely,
      That I admire you
 
      only a little,
But in its quiddity, clearly,
      it is everything.
 
Ah but how do I put it?
How do I tell you without making you crinkle yet another sneer?
 
Bluntly,)
 
I can't.

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