I love your big Mick Jagger lip,
your saddest eye. I even loved you
when you got that ugly sty.
I never count the days
that piled up to now,
nor ever look ahead,
but welcome every moment
yet to mow us down
in glorious discordant harmony.
I even love you when you lie to me.
I've loved you, love you always,
even as I can't explain
how blind affection swallows pain.
We're naked strutting emperors,
our loopy foibles on parade,
cascading with the march of tears
that hail our reign of circumstance
for this is love, our passion true
was born of chance, but over time
made tangible. We've surpassed fear,
made mockery of mere romance.
Here two have come to grow
as twisted wildflowers do,
insisting through a sidewalk crack.
Our weedy strength is sustenance,
existing hard by splintered ties
that straggled north
along forgotten railway track.
I simply love you Terence,
always hear your song ring clear,
even when our music fails. I always
hold you near in every jaded day,
through every jangled night,
even when reason pales.