[I Carry You] a poem

I carry you with me, In me, a pretty little jewel

 that everyone envies yet since feeling has been first,

our synthesis is a whole fool in the unrelenting spring rain

- everything of me acknowledges,

my blood runs warm in kinetic magnificence

where no apostrophe lift your eyelids

 than the wisdom of paragraphs given to you

 in my arms-

even statistics have hands too small to hold your light,

wee whistles without any origin whatsoever

 now the deepest of our lives lie lengthwise,

elongated, high up riding like the soul from

 the expired cell

-and whatever the autumn refuse to sing to you,

then darling,

dearest ladybird,

then what is done is undone by

and instead we never die.

Dontrell Lovet't

-from [The Paper Womb II]