Have no doubt

(I want this to be talked about.)

Truly, I’m tizzied. Has it affected me? Certainly, since last week I’ve dreamt, not slept, swept and checked my countenance for cracks, carefully counted my steps and spent sweat, pain, laughter all spun together in this mind-churning infatuation with your brain.

And your name! I am ashamed; I have not yet said your name to you. All of the above has numbed my voicebox, a blow from which I can’t recover, and beyond my lyrics and drums, I do confess: I fear my rubber tongue.

And “Oh but reality,” the fingers wag, citing polysyllabic nonsensicalities, eventualities, uncertainties, contingencies, superstitions and fragilities:

For instance, it is true, we have not met. And do we both clean our apartments? Do we disdain four-legged pets? Do we like the mornings? And do we both eat meat??

I do, I love meat. I do. I’ll get my fill at our first meeting, with eyes that taste every inch of you. And I’ll call the banquet hall tomorrow, if you like what you see too.

But do not doubt the serene certainty in my insanity, surety in my naivete, Samsonlike strength in my devotion to this realism. Full of bull? Oh no. Ole!