I cannot grasp 

the depth of you 

but I so 

delight 

in tasting 

the physics 

of its viscosity, 

a child 

eagerly 

pulling 

their chilled hand 

in from 

where it had been 

dancing 

on air currents 

through expressways, 

I cannot understand you 

the same way 

that a bug 

does not understand 

the 

enormous 

human 

endeavor 

of automobiles 

and highway construction 

or the change 

in the eddies 

that presents them 

face first 

with mirrored glass, 

I am temporal, 

weak, 

fallible, 

splat, 

and incapable most of all, 

incapable of 

perceiving your reality, 

try as I may 

to veil my gnostic turpitude, 

I am seen 

as I am 

and 

yet 

somehow 

unimprisoned, 

I did not 

before this 

know 

that love letters 

could be written 

by the craving 

to share 

Russian fiction, 

please keep

bringing me morsels

my darling,

 pull them up 

from the nets, 

the worthy nuggets 

most honest, 

that you sail 

the tumultuous seascape 

of your skull cage 

to collect, 

while I titter 

and bask 

and slap 

at the tide pool 

that I have access to 

and play 

at being 

a toddler philosopher 

just beginning 

to understand 

the meaning 

of wet.