My Love is All My Cranial Nerves

[RiverNotch]

Dang, my last two posts here, I vowed to edit, but I never did. Now, that wouldn't be too much of a problem, but those really were awful -- still, they were good loads of fun, and I don't think that much commitment to editing is really demanded of us in this forum. Or maybe not. I don't know. Anyway, my third post here, and a sequel in theme to my very first: in theme, but not in spirit, as this is somewhat more serious. Still, it's a sort of ridiculous observation, so perhaps the very idea of the poem is enough for a good laugh -- a good chuckle -- a good smirk -- a good condescending stare -- hum. 

Right, the point. Well then--

MY LOVE IS ALL MY CRANIAL NERVES

0, I, II
My love is all my cranial nerves: 
she's what I sense, 
she's what I do. 
In every motion I move through, 
whether of sadness or of glee, 
she's what I smell, 
she's what I see. 

III, IV, V, VI, VII
And all the movements of my eyes,
they follow her form,
in dream or light:
she is both dawn and fall of night.
Behind my frowns and beaming smiles,
there lies her wit,
there lie her wiles.

VIII
And all the sounds I feel and hear,
the whispering wind
and calling wild,
they are her voice, both loud and mild.
She is the music of my spheres:
my fortune's balance,
my hopes and fears.

IX, X
And all the victuals I have tasted
cannot compare
to her milk and meat:
she is both bread and water sweet.
The constant beating of my heart
loses its rhythm
without her art.

X, XI
And all the visions of my throat,
my preludes of death
and fugues of love,
they're granted with her holy dove.
She holds my head up strong and high:
she is my land,
she is my sky.

XII
And all the raptures of my tongue
would not flow out
without her curves.
My love is all my cranial nerves,
and what I sense, and what I do,
is all the world,
all that is true.