A Lover? Or a Muse? Yes, my dearest
the parade of humanity requires
both – else there would be nothing to define
mortality; our humanity is
discovered through a thousand little deaths
interspersed amongst a million wasted
breathes; human history is littered with
frail attempts to document the charade -
poets with their meter, philosophers with their
wisdom; yet none has unraveled more than
that which we find in the narcissistic
entanglement of time and mortal limbs –
which is this – life is ephemeral, and
the lover, the muse, comfort while they may.