We can live a thousand lives
yet never can we say
we fully understand love—
a changing matter
from concrete solid
to shape-shifting liquid
to intangible gas,
a metamorphosing butterfly
from a crawling larva
to a cocooned pupa
to a winged epitome of class.
But my love, when I look into your eyes,
I can smell the aroma
of the fresh dewdrops of breaking dawn,
I can hear the consistent ebb and flow
of the ocean’s water-made lawn,
I can taste the golden rust of a priceless relic
the turning time has drawn.
I know this is the kind of love I prayed—
its charming beginning, dependable middle, and a mortal end.
And maybe infinity awaits us after we drew our final breaths.