POEM - FM 380

 I’m drunk, and you are perfect,

which is an ideal compliment because

you were perfect before I was drunk

You’re not actually flawless, I realize,

but (gawd) how close you come

You dwarf the entire history of competition

You disappoint without disappointing

I could look in your eyes for five seconds

and stretch the moment’s weight for five years

All who came before you would flush with envy

if they knew just how little they matter

by way of comparison

I could die a starving smile,

fat-full of the passion you’ve imparted

Even the dead names fail to evoke

that childlike wonder which saturates me

whenever we happen to share the same square

of space-time

You are the secret love of my life,

and I’ve too much honesty to afford you

We are playing chess;

there will be no loser

Checkmate is only the beginning

of that tale we were destined to duo