I believe the question of whether love is a happenstance woven in music and serendipity; or whether is a calculated albeit organic progression of personalities- is redundant. It could be a meteor shower or it could be all the light two people cannot see. The question is, how much can you remember?
Remember, you and I. The entire length of our love on the floor. Three fingers, on the right hand only.
I have worn your skin. Eaten the language from your mouth. What will your hands do with me when they are done?
Will they fold my tender flesh into your memory’s blanket a hundred times in half?
Will they gather promises that begin with “remember,” and pack them beside phrases about the past?