She says Greek and Latin words
I don't know the meaning of.
She says Eros.
I drop my pencil.
She says Agape.
I clear my throat
And nod with the assurance of
The knowledge I have yet to attain.
I run home to find a dictionary.
She sees right through me.
I return with
Pathos and
Its cousin Ethos.
She has written a novel in
French.
I juxtapose and relate with
Synechdoche. She has reached
The Czech consulate and
Effectively bartered for the
Freedom of political prisoners.
I read Marx and speak
Of social revolution with
No understanding of the term.
She sits with
A Buddhist monk outside
Bangkok and transcends
Society altogether.
I speak candidly and she
Understands every word, writes
It all down more eloquently
Than I have said it. Or thought it.
My understanding of her is
Convoluted at best, requires
A dictionary, a soft chair
And two hours to myself.
But then she sleeps.
And her eyes see nothing.
Her lips do not part to speak.
Her hands save no one.
Her face eases and her
Smile retires for the night.
And for just a quick moment,
I get it. I get her.
She does all these things
For me. She understands and
Writes and speaks and saves and
Works--
--
--
--For me.