Time stretches...but its not enough...

    Time stretches beyond devices of measure
when lovers' souls are separated--
thus, sustaining a void where there should run pleasure.
Once immortalized on pages, lovers' words impaired and faded.
Even now as I scribe these words of my soul,
I recall the fathers and founders of this archaic art:
their enlightening revelations (though value diminished
by contorting them to the order and form of poesy)
came with fervor and went as swiftly as the engravings on the Pharaoh's tomb--
rubbed away indifferently by the sands of time.
Yet within those cobalt-grey windows, I see
                i
              n    f
                in
              i      t
                y
undiminished by time's indifference.
    Like a spider without its web--without you,
I have no home or design...
    Like a book unread--without you,
I have no purpose, no meaning to derive...
    Like a downpour without an earth to quench--without you,
I have no reason--no rhyme.
Even now, as I employ similes to explicate such feelings--such thoughts,
I can only name the things you are not
to me
because naming everything you are
to me
would take up all the remaining years this planet
or its sun has left.
And perhaps, the millennia that the universe will exist
before
it stops
to
    rest.