love is something
you want to take back,
like the ugly sweater you get for Christmas.
love is something
you have to accept in hindsight
even when you are sure
nothing hurts more.

October sun tickled and made me mean it
                                                              ­                     three
                                                                ­                   words
shouted at first
then whispered and kissed and traced over and over
subtleties in the way the world did not open up wide
and treeleaf eyes took a beat too long to find mine
subtleties in the way my arms enveloped too tight
and his
                                                             ­                      three
                                                           ­                        words
seemed to slide off,
water over a rock.
love is something
incapable of vanishing
as much as a
nostalgic heart
beating numb
wishes otherwise.