I’d like to say that sewing the previously severed back together

in the hopes of new growth

is lovely.

That reattaching fallen meaning to its original source is surgery: precise, laser-cut,

a cosmic jigsaw puzzle.

Or even something successfully completed in the universe.

That’s what they sell you.

Meaning in the flesh, of the flesh, becoming one

after twice cauterized and split, uniquely molded

by two lives.

Romantic when it all “fits together”.

Perfection when each benefits from the other,

is good, but not the best. Not even close.

Existing with another is only perfected in

existing for another.

Uncovering earthly beauty begins the journey of

purifying, sanctifying, dying

for transforming

for Meaning.

The impossible Surgery

of seeing beyond who I am

what I want

for you.

Reconstructing the original form of

tenderness, intimacy, ultimate closeness.

Working muscles that are weak

only strengthened by a vision

of something better than me.

We were made for more than us,

society, mere legacy.

I act, suffer, exist to make you

Perfect.

 

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