I don’t have a love that is poetically long and enduring.
I have billions of microseconds of explosive and volatile
love that births without warning and dies leaving a trail
Each breath in, a new love,
each exhale, a new death.
Otherwise known as muses.
I’m yet to find a muse that will own the entirety of me.
Devotion whilst noble and grand is uninspiring.
I love you,
a hundred times a day,
and I wouldn’t have it any other way.