It’s April,
And I am the fool.
It’s Tax Day,
And I've made my mark as “single.”
It’s Earth Day,
And you'll never give me a bouquet, so just pick me a flower.
It’s Duke Ellington Day,
And you like jazz music as much as you like when I call you my King, so why am I still waiting in line for the throne?
--------------------
It's Spring,
And I am in love.

Killing fields in Texas are no place for a pull over love affair,
Even if you're thinking about voting for the Zodiac Killer in this election.
Velvet skin against corn husks that look like the birds nesting on Trump's head -
It's no wonder they're so painful, but it doesn't hurt as much when you're loving a man who has more experience than Bernie has years;
No one has to know about this, baby, just as long as you promise to always love me and never send me any emails.

Alcohol tastes like watermelons
and it reminds me of the sweetness
coated upon your lips.
Nothing left but a cold tile floor,
memories put under the spotlight
induced by a glass or two or three
of strawberry daiquiri
that bring the breeze back to me.

The feeling of the wind
cascading through the rolled down windows
of your '08 Honda,
and the goosebumps on my legs
that you smooth over like bubble wrap.
Your hand is warm,
a little clammy as the temperature hits 75
and your lead foot pushes 95.
You're wearing aviators and a white shirt,
2 buttons closed, 3 following an Open Door Policy —
the color matches my porcelain skin,
and The Temptations sing
the closest thing we'll ever have to
a first dance.
My fingers waltz around your palm,
the only parts of our bodies
following the reckless pursuit
of our minds.
My love for you just grows and grows
You smirk and set free the adorable school boy laugh I fell in love with;
you look over at me,
but I can't focus on your singing voice —
oh-so-beautiful to my ears,
but oh-so-lacking in talent.
This —
wow.
This, is the first time you've ever
told me you loved me.

My hair doesn't get kisses from the wind
when I feel trapped inside.
The fruit isn't as sweet as your charm.
The wine isn't as deep as your grey blue eyes.
The adventure to the bottom of glasses,
the bottom of bottles,
isn't as captivating
as getting lost with you.

You better stop trippin'
or you might
fall in love.

Take me to the City that Never Sleeps
so we can spend all night
mingling with the mattress
and making friends with bedsheets.

Take me to the Big Apple
so we can make a fruit salad with our lips,
because mine taste like strawberries,
and yours probably taste like the Garden of Eden.

Take me to Empire City
and I'll be your Cookie
if you feel like your sweet tooth
is craving more than the forbidden fruit.

Take me to the Melting ***,
even though we're the whitest people I know,
teach me through the timelines of other cultures
and I'll teach your hand to trace pathways to more than my heart.

Take me to the Capital of the World
so we can stand at its highest point
to watch couples pass on the streets below
and know that's what we'll never be.

Take me to New York City,
because if this is just ***
let's make it an adventure
that playwrights on Broadway would applaud.

Let's just table this discussion
so I can table you.

Promise to kiss me
like Prince Charming.
And when the shoe doesn't fit,
Promise to love me like ******.
And I'll Promise to sweep
up the ashes
when the oceanic Heaven in your eyes
is scorched by what could've been.

Promise to keep the urn
of our almost eternal flame
on your mantle.
And when you get lonely,
Promise to spread me
on your bed sheets.
And I'll Promise to
rise
from the cinders
to make your heart flutter
the way it did when
you first Promised to love me.