there is a boy i've mentioned in my poems
only a few times,
not enough to elicit the thought that i love him

but i do;
in actuality, i probably don't
since i have a tendency to label things love
from corpses to blooming gardens;
i wouldn't recognise love if it knocked me out
but i like to imagine my poems are about love

so i love him,
and the songs he sings to me
and the words he sews especially for me
but after thousands of love poems,
the word becomes a little bit redundant

even when he says it for the first time
and it tastes new and foreign on my skin
it becomes stale so fast
and i anticipate it

maybe he also misunderstands love
and only likes my corpse
but to me
they are the same

kiss me
even though i choke on your name
and burn when you look away
i promise you i am fragile
in a beautiful way

you are not like any other boy who's touched me
but i won't get mad if you break me;