Thursday, January 29, 2015

This is not possible.

well, how do I write a love poem now?
it's been a tradition of pain
some desperate sensation wrenching the bowels
churning and sinking and pulling me down

how, now, can I write about love?
slow, afternoon, accidental porch nap love
unsure, clumsy, awkward
loose and just-for-fun
driving top-down and blind love

love that somehow made it through scarf weather
and back to shorts when nobody was looking

love that went from not having the time let me check my calendar
to when do I sleep next to you again two nights apart is too long
and pick up a bottle of wine on your way

I'll be fresh out of the shower and still putting all the pieces together for you while you wait
I'll even let you seen me without makeup and you dare not say a thing when I put on way too much

love that reads like Dave Barry
love that sounds like a.m. radio
love that floats like clouds in coffee
love that wears like grey scarves
love that plays like a big old dog
love that sleeps like a sleep number mattress
love that calls like a land line
love that echos like a city train
love that sings like a choir boy
love that lays like a blanket
love that tastes like breakfast
love that smells like baby skin