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Alex Apples Jun 2013
I want to grow young with you
Watch superhero movies when
Our hairs turn silver blue

I want you to sing silly songs
Snort with laughter at my accents
When the days get long

I want to color in books with you
Read aloud our favorite tales
When the moon is full and new

I want to be your partner-in-crime
Canes tapping in synchronicity
When it's adventuring time

I want us to skydive, soar, be bold
so you and I will be growing young
long after our children have grown old
Alex Apples Jun 2013
Your love is not a hurricane
It is not an earthquake
It is a sweet, sweet salve
to an old heartbreak

Your love is not lightning
It is not a tidal wave
It is a deep, deep breath
at the end of a long, hard day

Your love is not a fever
It's not an addiction
It is not my nicotine
nitrous
Novocaine or
nitroglycerin

Your love is not suspenseful
seismic
shellshocking
stomach-churning
sugar cane saccharine or
surprising

Every love before you has been
a frantic, careful dance of
close
but not too close
honest
but not too honest

Yet you
strange you
can look at me from across a room or
across a tabletop and
there is wonderment,
but no wondering
passion,
but no pondering

Defined by choice
not whim

We always crave the love
that is our
hurricane
Novocaine
sugar cane
to sap away
our pain

But what about the love
that simply is?

Is that what makes it real?
Is that what makes love
Love?
What if we embrace what we need
instead of what we want?

To forge our way towards happiness
and disregard any distractions
that stand in our path?

What if we chose to every day
trade the roller-coaster romances
for the life-long loves?
Alex Apples Jun 2013
Dream I
We are underneath a treehouse.
He pulls the cord
to raise the platform on which we stand
and I splinter my hands
gripping cedar as we swing against gravity
stomach lurching in the heights.
He chortles
as I beg to be let down again.

Dream II
We are in bed,
yet I feel lonelier than if he were
a million miles away, or under another's sheets
and I grimace
as he tells me not to speak -
that my voice annoys him
even when my whispers, my caresses
are merely my love incarnate.

Dream III
We are in a bar without walls.
He smiles, dances on the bar top
backlit by a blue mirror and bottles
with a dark-haired wisp of a girl in white
and she isn't me.
No, I was unexpected.
I say hello and his smile disappears.
This observation spears my guts, as
he pretends not to hear.
I order a drink and pretend I never tried.

Dream IV
He leaps and gestures and goads,
poking fun and inspiring deepest belly laughs
and I should be blissful
but he flits from table to table
always passing mine.
Saving his jokes and witticisms
though I can think of a billion replies
better than everyone else's.
I turn to our mutual friend
who shrugs and lets it slide
saying this happens all the time.
Apparently, I am an audience
now considered too cheap
to buy.

I Wake...*

The television flickers.
His heads lolls onto my shoulder
and his longshank of a leg twitches.
I want to weep or *****, so
I move and
his arm tightens around me.
I want to shake him, when
his lips that are even softer, pinker than mine
uplift at the edge, and
part to whisper,
"Stay."

Each night I fear I have lost him forever
        and each day I wake to find he loves me still.

What will it take to convince me in the dark
        of what I, in the daylight, know by heart?
I've been plagued by these dreams - I wonder if the only way to banish them is to write about them and remove their power.

Thank you for reading.
Alex Apples Jun 2013
Which is worse?

To love and lose
Or to never have been loved?

To know the completeness of sleep, when
bodies click like puzzle fragments
and then wake one day
to feel cold sheets
and an absent puzzle piece

Or to pass a smiling stranger in the street
sense the stirring of your soul and
despite your unkissed lips
simply ache for a kiss
and loathe yourself for not smiling back?

Which is worse?

To wonder why no one on this planet can love you
Or wonder why even love was not enough?
Pain is relative.
Alex Apples Jun 2013
We are all planets; orbited by moons, gases, comets.
We fear when they escape our gravity.
Why? Suns fix our revolution, not they.

We each consider ourselves the martyrs of our own tragedy.
We think our pain is paramount -
that no one else could possibly understand.

We might be less anxious, more content, tranquil
if we realized we are satellites.
Not stars.
Alex Apples May 2013
You compared falling in love with me to
boiling a frog.
Odd.
Unromantic, yet...

it made me love you
all the more.
Alex Apples May 2013
I have no qualm with Christ,
insists the common man or woman,
My thorn lies with "Christians."*

Interesting. It makes me think.
Perhaps there is a difference, then
between "Christian" and "follower."

One can deride a "member"
as one chortles at an arrogant child
for presiding over a tree house.

His father planted the tree
and his father nailed the boards to it
yet the child excludes as he sees fit.

One cannot demean a "follower"
for the follower acts the part of his father
and invites the other children in.

He learns their names and smiles
and shares his sandwich and cookies
with the *****, hungry faces.

So many among us will
step forward and throw the first stone
at the stain glass of a church

Yet who among you would
pluck that same stone and hurl it
at the face of Christ himself?
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