Soothsay

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You asked me how long,
to the exact second,
I would love you;
but who has the foresight
to accurately know
the history of stars, born to burn out
their light in the night;

          or to soothsay signs that divine
          whether love will become
          a bond that promises
          to pay the bearer anything?

Still I considered your question:
Should I have begun
with a smile, or a lie?
Should I have used the cliché
until the end of time?
But all I said with much deliberation,
was that I only knew what love taught;

          that it could be as brief
          as a touch, or else etch itself
          into the very grooves of your skin
          like your fingerprint imprinting.

And this is what I know of you:
as long as your love lasts, then I do;
the soft feel of you makes me
more human than breathing:
and you charge the battery of my skin
with your electric wiring;
you're more than a touch to me;

          and your identity is more
          than a groove of indentation
          inviting me to share
          the very print of you.

Published 27 May, 2026

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