for wonder is a mealy thing
compared to being subsumed
in the flux of every happening of any instant
from first kiss to last tear
from the mounting arch of focused aspiration
to the crest declining into the sudsy waste
of lover's regret and effort's indifferent result
the whole process burns with blaze beyond wonder
and there I am and there you will be
if I've given you anything may it be
no sense of anything but sense itself
no mealy thing
and no wonder...
Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito.