Platitudes are numerous.
Wind beneath my wings, lift me up to stand
on mountain tops, completing me.
We know them. You and I. They know them,
out there in world-land sipping on morning
coffee, finishing off an evening night
cap. The platitudes are many. Terms
of endearment are etched on my chest
cavity, a cheat sheet for my pumping heart
to remember them. To always know them. A positive
torture, holding my fist of red fleshes eyes wide
open, but not forcefully, in fact, my heart
has asked to be overwhelmed with: sweetheart,
baby, love, honey, sweet. These are many.
And my heart has taken to insomnia,
trying to fill in a note card with finest
print, but I've left markings on the board,
saw how desperately it wanted to get one-
hundred-percent on this pop quiz, test, short answer,
paragraphed exam. For the platitudes are many,
what we can have, build, what family will grow
within us, between us, of us. Moments of levity
throwing red shells into banana peels, laughing
over grapefruit flavored German beer, how "sloshed"
you get with one 3.4% contended bottle. But not really,
we laugh and joke, and even ones you don't like, like
cold La Croix can against exposed arm or leg. Irritation,
but then you go and do same to me. See, my platitudes
are not grand, in the crudest sense of the words,
they consist of promises to be present, to be near,
to let our hearts whisper solutions to problems to one
to other, and to figure out long-form how to solve
for X and Y. My platitudes are many, that I will never
let you purposely win at Mario Kart because you in fact
are perhaps better than I am now. My platitudes are many,
how I'll guard your heart but not possess it, not restrain it,
or control it. These many promises, of children, of puppies,
and kitties, growing up as one big family. Not nuclear,
but modern, here, and now. Not holding on to subjugations
of old timey books, and themes, old timey patriarchal tradition,
for you are human, not woman, as I am human, not man,
and as humans we are capable both of getting to mountain peaks,
lifted up on one another shoulders, strapped in to one anothers
restrains, heaving and crawling, with footholds, or by digging
deep our fingernails into jagged rock, willing to bleed and be pained
for you, but typically refusing such pathways. My platitudes
are many, are numerous, are legion, my platitude is to ensure
to you that our climb will be carefully chosen, resisting roughest
ways unless weather pushes us toward them, we will together
contemplate, and discuss, map out and plan, welcome suggestions
and decide together which routes to take, always tethered, always.
The platitudes are many, my endearments clear, oh sweet honey baby,
we've co-opted this kart to suit two.
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