Untitled I

It's not about
knowing you
when we were there,
wandering, in gardens of youthful

What matters is that I've known you,
as you are.

It's not about
seeing you
transformed in full splendor
palpably radiant and 
blinding mortal 

What matters is that I’ve seen you,
as you are.

It’s not about
hearing you,
angelic rhythm of
imagined voices 
wallowing in bitter-sweet

What matters is that I’ve heard you,
as you are.

It is not about touching you
in the deepest 
recesses of your uncharted
nakedness, utterly lost 
in the celebration 
of your beauty and

What matters most is that I’ve touched you,
as you are.

It is not about feeling your
stormy thoughts
and calm contemplations
though these are far
constellations reached
only by stellar signals.
What matters most is that I’ve felt you,
as you are.

‘Tis not about
loving you,
sweet rose-petal of dreams,
brown Madonna of
the southern shores.
I should not love you. 
But everything
in me tells that
I love you.
And I will love you
in another place,
in far away life.

And it matters most that
I have loved you,
somewhere… sometime…
as you are.

Jay Pascual

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