a gift

I have nothing to offer.
Only Love without proof. Which might not even be love.
Only a God damned useless hope.
And thought after thought after thought. A thousand thoughts a second.
A default setting in my brain.
An endless looping prayer for your happiness.
A cloud of words orbiting around a massless center.
A constant need for you that never blooms into action.
A cocoon
Around a wastrel butterfly, whose one wing is the pallid idea that parallel lines meet somewhere.

Which all adds up to nothing.
Yours all yours.
A black hole with a ribbon and bow.

Left on your porch. And again in your mailbox. Your voicemail. By carrier pigeon and internet auction. Nothing touched. Nothing real. A silence and emptiness breathed away in a split second as Nature fills the vacuum she abhors.