I write to you, I wonder why

I write to you. I wonder why.
In theory, I am satisfied with your memory alone
The one alternative is to forget,
but at some point, I decided that this love for you…
even if it is nothing but lust…
was a value I would examine to the very end,
I would keep conducting this experiment
even without hope for verifiable results in this life.

But my memory of you is antiseptic,
it is isolated from its origin, like a medicine.
It is the active ingredient, which somehow
was transferred into me.

It has no beating of heads in disagreement
no pulling or pushing, no wanting no frustration of want;
It is the preserved essence in mind of you;
it is the sum total of everything you did to my senses,
the cell by cell invasion of your hladini power.
It is a conscious force, but I do not know it is you, I only guess.

And why should I want to reach out past the illusion of memory
to a "real" person, who comes with her own expectations
as many branched as the tree of life,
a text-book source of misery,
acclaimed by all the shastras of good will
as a danger to me, an elephant trap,
a honey trap, only to be stung by bees?
Yes, It is a vanity to think one will not be stung.

I know. The real you, you will tell me,
is the one who tells me to renounce,
and by your strength of will,
I have been bound to learn your lesson.

I fear you. I fear most of all that you would turn around
and change direction. That you would say, let's do it.
Then what would I do? What does an old pauper monk do with an old woman?

And yet it is answered: why do I write?
Do I still dream of a reconciliation of real you with memory you?

Memory is a good thing. I am an old man now
and so I believe in the inevitability of loss.
A parade of losses is the preparation for the final moment,
the final breath. What memories will glow in my brain at that moment?
The pheromones ignited by your love?
The Holy Name, and the thought of that mightiest of unions,
at the Soul of the very Universe?

Time I am, destroyer of worlds.
And so time grinds down my love,
ah but I was so sure it would never die.