i cut up your picture today to hang on my wall.
it was in six pieces,
although it would have been seven,
had i not thrown away the square containing your shoes.
each piece was to represent everything about you i love,
but i thought of only three things i could name.
so i left out your hands to narrow it down
to five choices rather than six.
i then scrawled in thick black letters:
"passion" on your head,
"courage" across your breast,
and "your joke at susan's wedding" down your legs.
but then i took away your head and legs,
as passion is too general,
and jokes are only funny once.
courage i could keep, but seemed lacking on its own,
yet i tossed your hat, figuring it unimportant
and you could buy a new one at any time.
four hours later, with ink on my fingers,
hair in my face,
and nothing on my wall,
i realized there is only one thing i love.
but i threw you away
and have run out of tape.