This, That, and the Other Thing

More than butter on toast, more
than all the muscle in my head,
more than a smoothie with skim milk, more
than the ladybugs in the refrigerator in a jar,
more than my flower collage, more than people
in the dark kissing just below the ear,
more than light and laughter, more than
the words I write on your back with my fingers,
more than my silver bike ride home at dusk,
more than the large metal lawn that is Brooklyn,
more than my weathered hands, more than a chlorinated pool,
more than laughing children under a sprinkler,
more than the East River, more than the smell
of sandalwood or amber, more than
huge mysterious fever memories, more than
this, that, and the other thing, more than you, more
than me, more than the faces of the ones I loved most.