the phrases that you love,
the sentence structure that picks you up,
so that I can hold you and keep your pieces together and make you whole.
I could split the infinitives,
subject the predicate,
conjugate the verbs,
run on and on and on and on and on,
and end with you.
You punctuate everything.
You are the ending of all my sentences,
the pause between my phrases,
the full stop and the hold on,
the wait wait wait wait ok,
the not now and the just before and the next day,
the first note and the dying reverb,
the verse the chorus the bridge the key change the refrain,
the anthem and the aria,
the rising action and the climax and the denouement,
the opening scene and the rousing finale,
until my eyes go black,
until my hair turns gray,
until I shrivel and disappear,
and I will still sing even then,
a disembodied voice on the wind,
inbetween the rain drops and cloud fall,
ghost notes and mist bones and vein currents,
your song will be the last melody at the end of the world.
Long after the end,
the universe spreading quietly into the black night,
only entropy and chaos and the swirling miasma of matter and energy and you.