I was curious to see what this poem would actually be like, so I wrote it. (Or rewrote it)?
Don't think I quite managed to recapture the hilarity of the moment (hey, I suppose you had to be there). It is still achingly pretentious, however.
Love song between two mirrors and a book
I love you
It seems for years I have been gazing into your face gazing into the face of me as I gaze into you
Through the endless ramifications of existence, there is only me in you and you in me and us in them
We are the world, or there is no world, or we have consumed the world
Do I reflect your lines or do you line my reflections
Is there start is there end or is there time without end
If existence is but thought what is time to such as we, who is I, the ultimate solipsism
And so here we are, for there can be no other place, and no other when,
And we have eternity to contemplate these subtle imbrications on the fabric of reality
What is reality
Why is a hot cross bun
How long until a string quartet
Wherein lies the inherent courage of a crème brulee
And for forever we will, as forever we have, dance across the receding landscape of our images, sweet torment of eternity,
Unfold your pages for me, dear book,
Hold me in your recursive imagery, shimmering, dear mirror,
I shall be your moon. I shall be your earth. I shall be your stars. I shall be your quasar. We shall be the galaxy.