How I Would Marry You Again

poem me wishes look television landlord stars succumb anatomy kicking real pilgrim

i could almost write you as a poem

one i could carry always, in my back pocket.

if all three of my wishes were granted,

you would look to me as a muse

or the television by which you are entertained;

perhaps, a landlord to whom you pay homage,

or maybe the stars that guide your way.

you could succumb to me, and i to you,

and the anatomy of Us, evolving from the shedding of our separate selves 

would become more textbook,

studied for years to come by eager students.

there would be no railing against, nor kicking out at

the humility of simple.

after all the hard calcium of imperfection had been burned away,

only the core of what is real in us would remain.

the fused dichroic chunk of Us could be a wandering gypsy pilgrim

in the wild untamed lands between You and I.