The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou
hearest the sound but canst not tell
whence it cometh, and whither it goeth:
John 3:8
If I could help you with your coding language...
But then, I'm not one with mathmatic mental gymnastics;
let alone interperet formal language.
If I could draw, but then again, no.
Still I'm better off than my father,
who once told me, "I can't even trace."
I laughed. He said, "I'm serious!"
What is it that I bring to the table of our love?
I wonder sometimes.
But then an untrained writer like myself
can scarce take in, a love, that has lasted
longer than marriages.
There seems to be no reason but there is
often Suessical rhymn.
I just know I don't grow tired of discussing the
validity of an oxford comma or arguing about
grammar until one of us exclaims, "Oh fuck!"
And the other one bursts into raucous laughter.
What is it that keeps us saddled to one another
when times get rough and tempers flare?
It's a spiritual who done it?
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