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 Mar 2014 Carlotta Baraldi
Liam
She will lose herself in a book
and find herself in poetry

She thinks that religion is a sacrilege
and that long showers are sacred

She makes love when she's tired
and never tires of making love

She is irreverent in her humor
and pious in her gravity

She is diligent in completing her work
and ambitious of her quest for leisure

She is the personification of romanticism
and the embodiment of compassion

She exists harmoniously in my mind
 Feb 2014 Carlotta Baraldi
Love
I love...
The way she smiles at the ground,
Whenever shes embarrassed.
The way that she makes funny faces,
When I take pictures.
The way she laughs at my stupid jokes.
How she says "I love you.",
And means it.
How she trusts me with the most important things in her life.
How she let me kiss away her tears.
How she turned to me,
When she needed someone to be there for her.
How she lets me kiss her cuts,
To make them better.
The way she holds my hand,
And leads me down the hall,
And marches on gaily,
Ignoring the comments people make.
The way she snuggles into me when we dance.
The way shes not afraid to be honest to herself,
And be who,
And what she wants to be,
Not what society wants her to be.
The way she loves me.
Her.
I wrote this a little over a month ago.
Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
Love is a curious thing. I think undefined and it never quite tastes the same day after day. I use to try and isolate it to pinpoint what it was I fell in love with I'm beginning to think that I may have fallen in love with all of you. Perhaps none of you. Maybe I'm not really in love at all but god what I would to trade demons through our lips like this was Our own special form of currency. Someone told me once if you kiss Someones soul, you'll get pieces of there heart stuck in your teeth  and eventually they'll get so homesick they'll have to kiss you again just to get a little of themselves back. That's what I want to do with you. I want to lay next to you when you're sleeping so I quietly steal your heart. I'm polite like that. You see my parents raised me right, and they told me everything I should and shouldn't do. The only thing they neglected to tell me, however, was not to fall in love with boys that smell like the woods and everything that comes out of their mouths sounds like moonlight, as these will be the ones that will break you in every way you never even thought was possible. They forget to tell me that girls that have wildfires running the lengths of their souls are not to be trusted, and you should never let them hold your heart while you tie your shoe. I'm beginning to think that it's not very wise to fall in love, and definitely not all that sane. You see, I'm not quite sure how a person is supposed to be capable of love when they're still picking up the pieces of themselves that others found to be useless. I  am composed entirely of forgotten cracks that I'm only reminded of when you piece me back together. I am every word you tired to say at midnight but couldn't quite force out. I am every word you whisped "I love you" even when you know you shouldn't. We're a match made in heaven but we were only built for hell. They said we wouldn't work, that we could never be together and **** it they were right but I didn't care because you were an earthquake and I was the girl who always stepped on the cracks on the sidewalk to see if they'd really break my mothers back. I'm tired of these stupid notions that love is only the way someone looks at you when you're not looking back. Or that little electric spark when you touch someone for the first time and every time after that, what matters to me is if the skin underneath your fingernails is only mine or if you've been digging your way into someone esles soul. What I care about is if you'll Kiss me like you're a sinner in crunch and if you hold me close enough, god won't be able to see you. I need to know if you'll kiss me like I'm blood bursting through your veins, people make love more complicated then it should be, and maybe that's why we didn't make it. Because I was so in my head and you were so out of yours that I'm not sure whether we imploded or exploded. Falling in love with you was the greatest mistake of my life and I wouldn't take a second back. I used to tell myself that falling for you was like being trapped in a car underwater  i used to say my only regret was that i got in but now you stolen my breath and planted roses in my lungs like that where they belonged I've realized I don't miss every little bit of your insanity. Maybe we were just in love with the idea of what we could have been together. But all I know is that you could crack open my chest and rip out my heart with your bare hands and I'd use my last gasping breath to tell you how much I was sorry. All I know is that I've still got fingerprints on the walls of my heart and darling, I'm sure he will get around to washing them off.
*****. I really like thiss.

— The End —