You.

You. you.

I remember our meeting, the cold wind funnelled through city streets, constructions for the decadence of society, capitalism, empiricism, mortality, physicality,
though a fine means to make the wind strong, white noise to my ears and the slow lull of sleep.

So in that state of half-consciousness, going on out of the need to do so, you very nearly passed me. You.

But no… no…. I'm…… completely cupped within two small hands… within you…
so small… small now because you reduce my function into nothingness, as I do you… I'm so small now.

But function, what is it if not an unnecessary means to achieve what we are now, what I am now, what you are now, what this is now… it's immaterial, we are based in it, our foundations are rooted in it.

Those cold city streets, those cold eyes of passers-by.

This cold, it's my foundation, without it I would not be.

But I am. I am.

I am.

So why bother with those unimportant things, those sad, ugly things, those crude, broken, twisted, monstrous, uncaring, cold cold cold, perfectly cold things. Unmoving, stagnant.

We are… and we're amazing…

we are.

I can't remember that cold, the grey of the city, those absent, mechanical things.

All I know is your warmth.

Just, Beautiful, Deity;
All this I do for the love of you.