Let me give you a piece of my mind.

See the way it gleams, and will occasionally shine.

I see yours too; it’s just like mine.

Intrinsically beautiful, both ten-out-of-nine.

Both of their movements are somewhat erratic,

Until they stop and come together, coenzymatic,

Bonded now, their collision not elastic,

An idea emerges, blended dichromatic.

“Well?” she interrupts my train of thought.

“Well, what?”

“What’s the idea?”

Me, avoiding the truth, “Does it really matter?”

“It could be music, or a vaccine, or anything, really.”

“Oh, I see.”

“What’s important is that it came from what was shared between the speaker and the subject.”

“…Can I finish it?” she asks, “The poem, I mean.”

Go write ahead.

The idea is, was, will be love;

I’m sure you already knew.

Every part of it belonging to me,

As well belonging to you.

It’s a brave idea for sure;

I know it’s not afraid,

That every once in a while,

It must hide itself in shade.

But what if I were to call it, then,

Out of hiding to play?

I’m sure we’d be happier together

On that wonderful day.