i love love love you

it may seem silly
but it’s true
it doesn’t make sense
and i just don’t care

when we’re walking
i want to hold your hand
when we’re talking on the phone
i think about you

and i love the way that your smile
turns down at the corners
like you’re not really happy
but you totally are

love poem to girlfriend

i love the little tiny hairs
on your neck
and i love the way that you giggle
when they touch my lips

and the smell of the place
behind your ear
is absolute insanity
inside my brain

being your lover
is electric
and soft and delicate

and your toes taste
absolutely amazing

you are beautiful

so perfectly human
you walk amongst mere mortals
like an angel
surrounded by light
and clothed in white feathers
and gold

you smile
and everything is alive

even your name
makes me think
what is love?
and how it moves me
like a puppet

and how can it be true
that you own me completely
and you don’t even know

love on rye, hold the mayo

yeah, i’ll take a couple of slices
of the good love
that kind, right there.
cut it nice and thick
stack it on there, for real
with stone ground mustard
and some of that home-made slaw

wrap it in paper and a side of fries
a little garlic salt
malt vinegar

maybe i’ll save it for later

or eat half now while i wait
and enjoy the rest for lunch at work

what is love?

love is love
really
it can be so many different things

love can be
  • work
  • peace
  • anger
  • weakness
  • selfish
  • caring
  • less
  • flight
  • wealth
  • sharing
  • childhood
  • a mystery
  • longing

 
It’s just never the same. it keeps moving and flying and changing like some magical kaleidoscope of insanity, or a mystical calliope of comfort and depression. The tune plays for one and then for another. The magical creatures go round and round, and up and down.

And we all pay our token, or remain content to watch from the sidelines, because we don’t want to be the kid who ate too many deep fried twinkies and blew chunks all over the magical, mystical sidewalk of love.

footprints

i’ve forgotten so many of our memories
they seem to wash out to sea
lost in the sand of living each day

but there are a few things that remain
like footprints in the sand