That One Needs To Be Touched

by Alexander Ziperovich

Sophia’s mom showed me a poem I wrote for her on Christmas, as it were,
I had written it during our initial discovery of what was to be, and what is,
the atingle of our singing, dancing, living, breathing love,
a love so perfect it became sillily inaccurate, even inappropriate,
to use the word perfect to describe it and so I was led to
thesaurus’s, encyclopedia’s, Dostoevsky, anywhere for terms that might,
with some measure of clarity, resemble the boundless love we knew;
I came upon words like splendiferous and fleckless,
and still these did not come near to capturing the
essence, the soul, the infinite genius of our love,
nevertheless the first line of the poem read:

“I would push mountains up mountains for you,”

That was around the time I got a heart inscribed with “Yes, love a slaughter,”
tattooed on my chest above my heart which she quickly pointed out
could also be seen as “Yes, love as laughter,”
an observation reflecting her endless beauty..

She got the tattoo on her thigh
of an excerpt of another poem
I had written for her:

“And now I’m bare,
All the wounds that
I am something,
something must
keep you near,
perhaps a sound
only the both of
us can hear,
the symphony
between our eyes
that became our
love
where there was
once just air…”

I haven’t written in awhile, certainly nothing of love, even though it is always there,
like the sun and the moon and the clouds and the stars,
like air and fire and wind and water,
love like a windy fire,
smashing through buildings.
I have not written of love in some time.

Yes, a fire or a wind or a windy fire,
yet she’d prefer our love to be a vegetable,
or a family of pigs living out their lives peacefully,
sheltered from the horrors of the abattoir’s of the world;
I think it’s adorable how she loves pigs because as she put it,
“They’re in their little families, they’re cute, nice and they love each other!”
She love mothers, “Write about mothers! They’re an incredible force of nature.”
Somewhere in there she used the word Gaia,
but knowing Sophia,
it
flew
into the sky like a bird and
became a cloud shaped like a heart that rained on people to satiate their deepest thirsts.

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