All I want to know

It is seven in the morning,
and all I want to know is your name.
I do not want signs, or empty shells
of ideas, or concepts, or machinations
that try to contain the entirety of you,
all I want to know is your name.

At five past nine, seated behind a desk,
All I want to know is who you are.
The words that escape the farthest understanding
to the questions you ask me, and the silence
I can only give, because distance, as confusion,
always muddles what I have to say.

Nine past noon, I am by your side
and all I want to know is how to love you.
When silence, or fear, or anguish, or memories
Have left us both, and not even questions remain,
I want to know how to love you.

Seven in the evening, and I do not want
to know your name
to know who you are
to know how to love you
to know how to understand you

the hours and the minutes and the seconds
fly by as quickly as they come to our shores
and yet, past this moment, past the hours to come
even past midnight

All I want is to know
how to make you understand
or how to make you listen
or perhaps,
even just how to say
that I love you.