Don’t talk to me about love,
like you even know her name,
like you know the way she held my hand and rubbed my back as I sobbed into her veins.
Don’t talk to me about love,
as if you’ve heard of her before,
as if you’ve walked along the Pacific shore and seen the bottled notes I wrote you every day but threw to the ocean so only love would know my truths.

Don’t talk to me like you know my pain,
like you’ve torn open my scars
and seen my pulsing heart beneath.

Don’t talk to me like you have felt my love
because, truly, you have never let it touch you.

So please, don’t talk to me about love.
I doubt you even know love’s true face.