I don't know you yet
But I think I will love you.
Maybe not in the conventional sense
Of kissing in the misty winter downpour
Or nibbling undetermined parts of your body
While enveloped in the shadows of dim
Orange light.
In fact
Our love, our connection may only be one of poetry
We share words
Skyscrapers of words
Scrape the clouds with our words
Our languid language freely flowing
Our words our love ...
May be one of painting, drawing;
Brush and tender to the paper
To the scrape of the pen
The pencil drawn the lines
To the ink to the coal
To the canvas of our hearts.
Forever I will love you.
Of course we haven't met yet
But time is a flexible ribbon
Moving ribbon
Twist and turn and quiver
And convulse the bodies move
The spinning energy seizure
Twitch stiffen fallen flesh
Then I will meet you.
Today someone will fall in love.
Today is not my day.
But that's OK because somewhere in the future
In my poetry my art
My writhing ribbon of time
You exist and from that point
The canvas of the brush the pen
Caress the paper the words
The tower of words we will share it.
We will share art.
We will love.
• By Sabrina Swerdloff, Year 9, Otago Girls' High School
