You are this love I found in a puddle. And you are the muddy puddle.
You are long stretches of sun and languishing. You are clear skies and allright. Then you scatter nervous birds with your sudden darkening. You are a fog which hangs around my temples, a hurricane without warning, through which I must walk.
Startling me from a restless sleep, you are then gratitude! You rush through me like a glacier melt of ideas. You are a fat snake at the base of my spine and you are stirring.
You are a thousand mundane tasks strung together to squeeze out a day. You are on and on, my protracted amnesia, you are my abbreviation.
You are the full moon in Australia, which leaves my own sky black. But then you are a sharp pinprick of hope which goes all the way through. You are the mighty perfection of unsplitoff design.
You are twisty and you make no sense to anyone, with your million tiny bridges in a giant, baroque web. And I, like a fly, exhausted by my own struggle, surrender.