Too best to love

Anahid you were standing there, next to the desk, trying to say what Eternity was all about. I couldn't hear you, your voice was so low, like a whisper, but I could feel your breath. It was slowly arriving from the right, while in the left Paganini played through time and space into a Smartboard speaker. I was caught between the two. I asked you the author was and you didn't know. It didn't matter. But I wanted you to know. You said the poem was about "being abroad". You said you didn't really know how to put it. You whispered it, "it's about not putting all of your joys in one basket." The moment was eternal. I knew it couldn't last, even in the moment of feeling it, grafted it onto myself as something eternal, went into it completely, lingered, maybe you could say, wallowed in it. 

Clarice, I was leaning over reading when you walked up. You weren't as shy. It was me this time, softly saying to you, "Eternity. It's about being abroad. I don't know the author." You were caught suspended it seemed to me between Paganinni's ancient fiddle of fire, and my cool breath.  

Sue, there you were, on fire, so cooly, so I did due diligance and got to know you better through Emily's letters. Duly noted. Every time the word Eternity shows up in a poem, it is forever more redolent of you. Paganini was invited to one of your parties, but tragically, he was afraid to cross the ocean. Now he's stuck in time and you are forever free.

Gertrude. On fire on fair fire unfettered you shew, you show, you shew the show. The show you shew unfettered you, unshoes the fair notion of fire. The eternal flame is in the saying of the same. The fiddle of Pagannini solves the riddle of the speech, eternally. 

I can't go on. I must go on. 

Frank, I knew I was going to have to Dick 

Tracy you too, like a retrofuturist wristwatch,

which now is just so...so... yesterday. I'd

rather hang out with you in Eternity, dear,

while Pagannini solves the mystery of Joe. 

"It's the dinner party of my dreams."