I don't want love that's given like bread to
a bird, just thrown in the pond so carelessly,
though with good will in mind.
I want love composed like a letter,
each word carefully constructed,
enticing me to attempt an even more eloquent response,
this kind of back and forth exchange of wit.
And I want love that is like a long
and scenic walk, like a million flowers
performing lively dances by the edge of the lake;
love that is hard and soft, give and take.
I do not want to be thought a poor, lonely duck
in need of a generous park attender's charity;
I want to be loved with selfish clarity,
as though I am the setting sun.

I dreamed of Frida Kahlo
"yo era ella amante"
pure, paupered prince to her primal queen
yet still I hollowed a carnal niche into the midst
of one perdurable, lurid " noche de los muertos"
and fingered the lachrymose from her lacerations
counting prurient  time in a piercing nine of
perennial persecution before I wore her pelt
to lay me down in her sanguinary glow

i want it to not make much sense
when we kiss and
because we are birds

i want you to be a confusing yet very welcome heart
because we are birds flying in an evening sky and
it is hard to see in the dark

i want our bodies to touch in a mysterious. way
i want you to care for me
i want to love you (and i do)

you are tired
he thinks
and he was right

you are tired
because
within you
is a jar of words
unspoken
the letters
have become jumbled.

it has been weeks
since the night you
attempted to remember
the correct patterns.

did you mean
'here'
or a letter more?
'there'.

it sounds more correct
but sadder.