As music is to sound
So poetry is to letters,
Bread to flour,
Wine to the grape--
What am I to you, then,
And what are you to me?
What application of heat and light,
What friction
Causes us to dissolve--
Me into you, you into me,
Hearts into souls into soul...
Us into them,
Until the sentences of our lives
Contain neither subject nor object--
Only that grand verb
(Called by some the helping verb
And thought, funny enough, not much of),
To be?
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