You are everything to me

You are curved
porcelain of coffee cups;
I can handle hell.
The little length
of thread tied
on little bookmark-holes
to remember where I’ve been,
and remind me where
I’ve reached. You:

cloud of white or grey,
suspended in sunshine,
looming in rain,
you prepare me for the day…
almost. You can be as fickle
as geeseflock patterns
above a troubled sea.
You are everything to me.

You are the only 1, highlighted
in red, above a mail icon
that I wait for. The only
welcome break
from solitude and silence,
like a lone shakuhachi
sliding its notes
from air content to eager ear. You:

the reassuring voice
of psychiatrists in the movies and
handlebars on staircases
too steep, that trigger fears.
I will hold on to you through
roller-coasters and ferris wheels
and other-worldly nightmares.
Like how especially ridiculous
all the love that I poured
in this poem can be,
you are everything to me.

— A. P.


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