I'll Consider Chanting Lojong on the Next Day I Try to Live

Reinterpreting experience,
    I take it with a sense of irony, that
  from the fantastic symphony of
            stardust
                  chaos
                          and nothingness,
and through the noise of everything else,
           on this planet, just big enough,
      our paths crossed in separate cars
                                  on the interstate,
and finally met in a rest stop from hells
              held tangential and private.
    It was simply Karma—
     a cosmic accident of probability.
Even with proximity,
         passion was in the periphery.
  Then things got fuzzy,
          as they tend to...
                            it's only entropy.

I suppose I lost my head,
  my tongue slipped, I
 got wrapped around your finger,
   got swept away...
 got caught making eye contact.
I stared too long and fell into recognitions
 of someplace nice,
    of land and tide...

So what if we're all just
      pushing pulling
   breaking like waves?
Who came up with Love?

A cynic's mirror questions
    a romantic's faith
 in pretty laced lies,
   St. Hallmark mockery,
 chocolate-coated fixed idea,
   wilted flower delusion,
white dressed utopic double-talk,
    trite metaphor courting ritual,
ceremonially aggrandized body functions;

Or is Love something more?
    More than gimmicks and games,
 more than power struggle and egos?

   Diplomacy is a tricky endeavor
 with razor bated breath,
   blades out for the slow dance
               at the knife party—
to be vulnerable is to show belly,
      offer your throat.
What ever the reward,
           the risk is body and soul;
   just ask Fitzgerald.

All life is just a progression toward,
then a regression from, one phrase—
                                  "I love you."

waves breaking waves breaking waves
    dissonant and harmonious.
 Perpetual in the peripheral eternal,
       fleeting in the moment.

With a boat's lulling rock drowsiness,
  time slowed when I ran my fingers through your hair.
       Was I just wasting your time?
I was head over heels
over zealous; I blinked and you slipped
   through my smothering hands.
interference pops cracks
  a misconnection of static
           breaking up
until at arms length blank eternity returns.

Still, through the black night, the
      frigid violent waters,
the Siren's song pierces
                       with entrancing brilliance,
"How do you lose what's never found?"