like, (an aubade)

You make me want to,
indecisiveness and all,
shave off my eyebrows.

And I’m not writing you a love letter.
But I need you to know:

Like, you make me feel like I could eat the whole sun!
Like I’d keep expanding and become a supernova –
like every epithet of Eos: even my fingers blush rudely redly, Rhododactylis,
like I could suspend life in the peculiar pre-dawn grey, when everyone feels
like you make me feel, forever! 

Like, you make me feel forever.
You make me feel like I kind of understand what Sappho was getting at, 
you make me feel like a perfect Grecian nose is the only path to salvation,
you make me feel like Martini’s “Annunciation”, speech so plain to see,
you make me feel,
like,
you.

This isn’t your love letter, because you make me feel like I’m writing one to myself:
foreign frantic rhythmic frenzy dactyls and trochees and anapests
pinions soft! and beating transparent like egg whites
sirocco-born soft! in the morning light like chocolate milk:

nothing is out of place, and you know I say exactly what I mean, and good morning forever.

Nat Nitsch