I want to trace the years down his curved spine, and count the rings.
To taste his sorrow and exultation,
To slash away at his barriers
So that all that is exposed is a boy,
With his superiority-complex seared into his chest.
I maintain that existence precedes essence,
That truth is provisional, situational, and determined according to perpective,
But I would still stay up all night to watch the sun burn out with you, and swear
it was God whom put us there