I often come up with metaphors
For the people in my life
A paintbrush, a flower, a cigarette-
It's something I come to
Love, perhaps as much as the
Person it is about
And I can no longer walk by a canvas, a garden, or
An ashtray without receiving
A chill down my spine, that
Shakes me to my core.

Somehow, I cannot come up with
A metaphor for you,
And I am inclined to love this most of all.
It isn't that I never loved, or still didn't love
The others-
(I've told you about all of them countless
Times, yet you don't seem to mind)-
But there is something about you so brilliant, so down to earth,
I may fall in love with you the same way
A child falls in love with making a mess
With tiny handfuls of soil
I still get sad, of course;
Objectification has never been the goal-
But there is something in your spirit that
Tells me to stop searching,
That I have found
What I have been yearning
For.