If I Talk of Love

If I talk in less of a broad form

I talk of love.

Or that my heart is alone for you.

And often and enough

It will be quelled by expression.

And a phrase or two,

Can suffice, for survival.

Then next day, hour, minute,

I’m at a crisis again.

And my chronology

Takes me to the point

Where I

Have to talk again.

Loving you has done this

To me.

Resurected my injured selves

Have brought me to tears

Then jolted me to joys,

Again and again and again.

I comet around with these words,

These works,

In an orbital life.

Far out I have reached

On an ellipse of dented love.

I do not dare to know the outcome.

I’m returning from the cooling Cosmos.

You step into my visionary speech

The footsteps of a phantasm,

And yet you leave your mark,

Like the arrangement of the firmament

Which appears wholesome and Heavenly made.

You are wonderful in my eyes,

And my love is true.

I have an encampment

Made of trust,

And in truth that’s where I live.

Your time has crossed

My boundry.

Now I mingle these words with you eyes.

And when sorrow returns

As I expect,

Or by trouble I am overcome.

I shall gift you again my lifes lament

A gift which by circumstance

Is offered to you in blindness,

Now my orbit begins a while.

And hand in heart I so depart.

Christopher Thompson (c) 2018

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