There's an entire language here,
it will enjoin us soon enough,
it will separate us in time.

I can almost touch the words from here,
alien swirls and parallels that could
stream in and out and back through
each other in endless intricate swirls,
reckless until we see a pattern emerge.

And I soon felt the years weave through us,
like beautiful tethers moving
the ether of before and after,
how time wasn't something measured
even though we use numbers to bind it,
to mark as something that belongs to us.

I could see everything
between us fold and unfold,
no longer as a divide but touching
was far too much to take in.

You will not be able to forgive me.

It will enjoin us soon enough,
it will separate us in time.

And I can still touch you from here,
breathe in the scent of your skin
and count its every unique particle
to mark as something that belongs to me.

I can weave through you like a starglow
soundlessly racing to one day light
a lover's face in its absolute and ghostly
celestial rainbows soon to burst
against the unfathomable darkness.

I could fold and unfold forever inside you.

And if you could see as I do
after time truly binds nothing
down to the very last still atom,
see what we created together
no matter how fleeting
her brilliant light was.

And to know it will in pain,
to know such connective tissues
may leave us with hope after 
stripping that which will always 
reside closest to the heart,
I would do it again.

I would do it every time.

And maybe you will
come to forgive me.