There are not
Degrees of love
But rather types
Just like flowers
There is not
Degrees of beauty
But rather types
If one recognizes
One then one
Certainly recognizes all
But in order
To see or
Feel just one
You must first
Be in awe
Of them all
Then you are
Capable of choosing
Which when where
It is only
When you turn
Your attention away
From yourself do
You truly love
It is only
When then there
You stand naked
Against the elements
Of abject uncertainty
Can you even
Utter the words
I love you
It is then
When you abandon
Yourself making someone
Certainly more important
Than even you
Laying here moments
Ago you asked
What’s your favorite
Memory and thinking
I turned to
You and looked
And looked and
Finally kissed you
And kissed you
And then answered
Those those are
My favorite memories
Sitting here thinking
Not really thinking
More like recalling
Someone that I
Scuttled long ago
After he outstayed
His brief welcome
Why is it
Those we wished
Forgotten somehow surface
Like ghoulish hands
From the graves
Seeking one more
Moment of life
Stay down there
Where you chose
To be and
Not up here
With the living
And the loving
This I know
You are windows
And not walls
You let me
See rather than
Keeping me hidden
You give me
Air to breathe
Sunshine to feel
Rain to watch
You teach me
Things about myself
That without windows
I’d never see
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 