September 10, 2011
I could find a ruler, dust off the aged scale
Bring out the thermometer bleeding mercury that’ll ail,
Uncover the graduated cylinder filled with juice,
I could record distance from a tree branch to a noose,
Yet measurements fall finite to what else there’s to know,
My love for you, darling, will only hopelessly grow.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback