Beloved

I love you so much... that sometimes I lift my arms to the sky and I feel the love flow from my heart to my fingertips where it flies off with such speed that even the rooftops and the treetops are drenched with LOVE and with POWER. And some of that love, I admit, gets caught in the crooks of my elbows, and in between the crevices of my fingers. I take those remains and place them in an indistinguishable, plain, brown box. And I make up an address. Any address. For instance, 1234 Maple Street. And thats where I send my love. But by the time it reaches this fabricated destination there is no love left in that parcel. For it has all seeped through onto other letters and the postman's hands. And as the receiver of the gift opens this package his expression will go from confused... to perplexed for all that is left is the whisper of your name.