The Missing Piece
It was always the case,
I was never Valentino.
No matter
what chatter took me for.
Sure, like you
I enjoyed the duel.
But barbed conversation
blunts the appetite.
No,
my odyssey
was not for conquest,
or trophies for Ithaca
I sought a world
reflexively experienced.
The siren sings,
"I have long heard you in my voice.'
And so,
I thought you understood.
This dialogical person
cannot be reduced.
The thought
then arises.
My subjective centre of being,
is the knowing of you.
Alas, it is too denotata
for ordinary language.
True friendship
Is the love of rhythm and code.
And all conscious experience
remains shared with you.
It is the mother and metaphor
of all existence.
Embedded, in knowing
is the actual being of commitment.
And conversation?
It declares itself eternal,
witnessing the final act.
While I sit
punctuating the prose of understanding…………………..
And listen to your attentive silence.
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