according to you, love doesn’t like hot weather and
sweaty palms and cheap beer
it doesn’t hear any orchestras or go
to any movies and buy popcorn and soda
and defintely does not agree to
feed the birds at the park pieces of
a leftover subway sandwich
according to him, love does not fancy astrology or
icecream sandwiches and it never
gets it’s body wet ( let alone it’s hair)
in the swimming pool at a party
it was never invited to
according to the anonymous
love likes to sit
love likes to smoke
love likes to watch reruns of all
the television shows your mom had
a digusting addiction to
it loves boring routines;
the 9 to 5
and it doesn’t mind
being mentally drained
and unprepared for any
emotional stability
but according to me
love just likes to hide
in peoples clothes,
in lacy underwear and size 32 jeans
it likes pretending
it’s not there and it enjoys
convincing you,
it is
not
but no matter what is said;
there is an undeniable
light in that room,
as he slides his body over
yours
weightlessly in
the dark and
it starts in your stomach—
escapes through your mouth
and it becomes the moon
above the both
of you
take my advice here—
always look for
it before
it notices you
doing so and
completely
disappears
because love isn’t
half as bad as
it’s been told to be
all you need to do
is learn to
cover your ears