At Least

I fall away drop by drop

As a statue of wax

In a gaze too explicit.

Love is not given without proof

Proof of worth, of loyalty

Of arbitrary condition.

A lifetime of proving

And so very little sustained.

What does it matter

That I am ordinary

That my poems are indelicate

And fall half-undressed

Across contrasting sheets?

What does it matter

That I forget your name

And your face, which isn’t

Half as extraordinary

As the smile it effects?

I remember your heart

As psychedelic as it is,

With such terrible affection.

Or is it affliction?

There is but so much,

Why is it I always find more?

A step taken with contused knees,

A step taken with bloodied palms

And I think at least love exists.

OctPoWriMo

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