Your love for me
is like a pair of sneakers.

Reliable.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Don't pinch or hurt; so good to your feet
you sometimes forget they're there.

It's just that sometimes,
not often,
but every now and then, I wish
your love for me was more like
a pair of wild shoes.
Brash.
Thrilling.
Bold

enough to spark the exciting pursuit
that it seems I never had.

If
we
did
a
slow
dance,
would
people
sense
the
passion
we
share?

But it's a moot point, isn't it?
You haven't
taken me dancing
in years...

I love words.
They shape, form,
define, refine, divine
        reality.

Nothing’s real until the word exists.

Catullus and his rage and his lust
Disintegrate into dust
But for his words.
His passion lives.

Hippocrates and Jesus
Byron and Einstein
Survive, revive, alive
Because of their words.

Words endure.


What is love if you cannot speak it?
So save your affections….
Instead, give me the words.
And when the emotion is long gone,
I will still have your words.
Even without you.

Words are forever.

Just like ceaseless
Drops of water, that
Over time, wear down the sturdiest of rocks,

So can little lies,
Those clever evasions and half-truths,
Erode the most stalwart of hearts.

My love for you
Is like a diamond

Clear,
And brilliant,
And tough.
Forged from fire and much pressure.


False love from past lives is glass.
Deceptively bright,
But brittle.

Reflecting only what you wish to see
Without disclosing the hollowness within.
And when it shatters,
Its savage shards draw blood,
Leaving you with scars.


My love would never hurt you.
My love, you see, is real.