Love—sometimes too abstract, but I know it lives in slow songs played in the backseat of my car. I know it ripples down your tongue as I lick, kick and grab. I know it shocks your backbone as I place my hand under and over and in-between.
Love—sometimes too abstract, but I found it resting on a fallen branch in a park. I found it in the bottom of a chocolate malt. I found it caught in a rabbit trap.
Love—sometimes too abstract, but I see it in you. And it smiles back, amber, un-blistered, and perfect.
let me **** on those *****-sweated fingers, and I promise I will ******* on my vintage Remington typewriter.