Café Philos: an internet café

My dear, my darling, my beloved,

We fit, you and I, we fit each other so well.
I glove you.

Yours,
Paul

My dear, my darling, my heart,

Without you,
I would never start.

I would stay in bed beyond the dawn.
I would miss the dew upon my lawn.

I would not smell the morning air.
I would not wake, nor would I care.

I would not hear the birds were singing.
I would to my sheets still be clinging.

Without you, my darling love,
Without you, my dearest heart,
I would never start
(Unless I was thrown
From my bed
By my farts).

Paul 

My dear, my darling, my love,

You are the flower bed of my heart.
I love you so mulch.

Yours,
Paul

If you are not now and then falling on your face, you are not reaching to do your best, you are not trying to achieve your excellence, your arete.

You are not trying to achieve your arete, you are not trying to live.

No, if you are not now and then falling on your face, you are playing it safe.

Technically, you are alive.  Technically, you are on the dance floor. Technically, your moment has come to dance, to live.

But you are playing it safe.

You are not dancing, you are standing still.

You are not dancing, you are not trying to achieve your excellence, your arete.

You are standing still.  You do not reach, you do not explore, you do not experiment.

You stand still, or you run in ruts.  You do not reach.

Yes, you are safe from falling.  Yes, you are safe from over-reaching.

Only you have turned to stone.

You have turned to stone

On the dance floor of life.

You do not know who you are until you have scars.

In the colding hours,
The hours when shallow, daylight bravery
Is asleep,
And we are left with, thrown back upon, the courage
That always comes at the cost
of our surrender naked to another.

In the colding hours
When masks fall like old, rotten nests
From high branches swaying in a strong wind,

And when hearts bloom,
When hearts sometimes open and bloom.
When hearts unbidden and unexpected
Sometimes Bloom.

In those hours twice you came
Wearing scented oils and bearing candles.
Wearing scented oils and trailing shadows
That were darker than your eyes
And warmer than down.

I could not those nights
Gather you
Without on touch
Fusing skin to skin with you
To One

In the collision of our bodies,
In the collision of our spirits,
In the colding hours:
Fusing skin to skin with you
To One.

Gerp.

GERP!

Gerp! Gerp!
Kerple.
Gerp gerp kerple gerp!

Some gerp
Some poems gerp
Some poems make gerp
Some poems make no gerp
Some poems make no sense.

But then,
Neither does politics
Most days
These days
GERP!