I don't see why love is compared to spring.
It's nothing new.
If anything, love would be autumn:
The slow sense of losing yourself,
The mixed signals to go with the weather,
The way you shed the layers of your words
so that the bare bones of truth
become vulnerable to the cold,
and the leaves of every syllable lay
motionless on the ground.

there was this moment
this split fraction of a second where
the pharaoh wasn't sure if he actually did love her.
there was this breath of doubt that washed his eyes
but the moment he opened them it was gone.
And the men there saw it and the women did too
and they wrote it down, they captured that look
and they etched it's wide letters into the book of secrets
only they could tell.
And I have studied these texts
and I have read and reread them,
and still when I let my eyes trace yours
there is something
lost in translation.

I try really hard to grasp what's real
and realize what I'm grasping.

the ultra-sound of love
must go something like this:
first a slow turn; a white line on
the black canvas and then-
a dim heartbeat as if
it would take the biggest of
all microphones to hear it and then-
a kick to your stomach,
because let's face it:
love hurts bad.
and let's face it:
it's the hurt that reminds you it's alive.

it's my theory that
we only notice the small changes
the small edits to life, the small movements that
fall just outside of the normal line of everyday
it's my theory that when two people are simultaneously in love
nothing past the outer doors of each other's eyes truly matters
and today,  I realized the trees no longer have leaves.

I don't even know what I'm doing I guess.
I have never been here before. I have never felt
the bitter effects of being so close to seventeen that
You can taste it.
I've never fully put myself out on a limb yet.
I've never dangled so high above the canyons of- I don't even know what.
(sorry, I'm too tired to think of a metaphor).
I've never tried so hard to win before,
hell, I've never really wanted to win before.
I'm strung together with motown and old violin strings
and also the constant nagging to become something.
I really don't want to, please don't make me.