Love Letter (over)

The Church of Scientology and Turkish Gynecology don't have that much in common, it's true.

But like you (and me), they ring with slightly similar bells.
I hear an echo of one in the chime of the other.

You're a new word. And like words you say over and over (and over and over and over) they start to sound funny. They lose meaning or transform. You're like that too - a word in my mouth that I've heard so many times that the original meaning is gone - transformed - and I'm not quite sure what's left... but it's something different than I've known.

Touching you is playing an instrument that doesn't exist, my fingers somehow knowing which notes to play. Before you life was a cappella.

Bells ring in my head and my vernacular is ever complicated with the absence of definitions. On you I learn new chords and harmonize with the symphony of familiarity produced in my mind.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that you're the reason rain is grand.