you
analyze everything
make up names for things that aren't there,
challenge the stars
to a nightly waltz
under the skeptical eye of the moon.
you
smiling gently
in your dreaming trance,
seeing a world in which sunset follows sunrise
or the tides come in on schedule
or any other logic subsists.
you
offering substance to an
insubstantial motive,
gracefully lacking
as it saps your bones with greed.
you
are a lover's poem,
to be sure.