Language of Love

With your hair tied up, and red Rudolph nose
You ask seemingly innocent, “who are all these poems for?”
I see what you mean, you talk of things that preceded
For, they do cast shadows ominous, like rusted chandeliers hanging

Mi Amore, what is before and after, to you?
Surely, the linearity of time doesn’t apply to you
For you are separate from things all, old and new
Things too, that never were, things that I almost brew

So, each line that I say, is for you
Each line I have ever uttered is for you
The world, it exists, to your whims and moods
And I am happy, to be a part of that world too

So, each verse is part of my language of love
With which to serenade, times be lovely or tough
So, my love you share with no one
No memories, no silhouettes, no quiet remembrance of sorts

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