How Long?
How long, my dearest friend, immortal in floral resplendence, have we kept our watch at this lonely shopfront? What span of time do you calculate? What measure of bravery do you recommend that we might celebrate our unyielding stewardship, this unconquerable friendship? A medal? A fanfare? A trophy? Confetti? An emotional embrace? I say it should resemble nothing less spectacular than mutual immolation in the superlative and ageless fires of heaven! I recommend the bliss of death!
The hours are ageless, and your stately lips speak only wisdom! Your catatonia is perfection. Your silence is stated with eminent conviction and poise. Your red hair and elongated brows evince all the refinement and grandeur of the princesses of the Orient, and the garb in which you dwell is as colourful and extroverted as spring! I look at you adoringly. My ardour is inconceivable by your guessing! I worship you by my entire chemistry! The beads of plastic that join my limbs exist only that my eyes might fix upon the loveliness of your presence. Your face is my restoration! Your skin is my prize silk! The shadows which lap upon your face have a special privilege and honour. Your stance is like a royal exclamation.
Even as the books and bric-a-brac and haberdashery make their efforts to command the attention, you are the treasure that would bewitch. Even as the plants and other decorations make attempts at levity and beauty, your presence and your esteem is the greatest by far. You are the fount of beatitude that would satisfy. You are the precious and innocent angel entombed in flowing pink. You are the paragon of refinement, with basilisk eyes, and I would be happy to become inert stone if you should will it.
The shattered souls who peruse the street and the vagabonds sleeping in the alley, when they spy the vision of you, know what the street lights were put there for. You are the fountain of grace that knows no expiration. You are the waterfall that would soothe. The lady who just this evening went stricken in guttural pain at the loss of a partner need only for a moment to espy your eloquent limbs and your kind eyes to rally to wholeness and healing. You are love itself!
