I feel like love is like listening to a song, and finding the true meaning behind those words, and what they mean to you and the person you claim to be so in love with.
I think love is when someone tells you that you’re too young to know love, but you don’t even second guess it or give it another glance, because you know that you know what love feels like, and you feel bad that some people never will.
I think love feels like a deep connection like you were lost souls who finally found your way back to each other. 
Love to me is like opening a book and seeing highlighted lines that mean the world to you, and you don’t understand how you could ever live without them. 
I know that love feels like a roller coaster; high, low, happy, exciting, sad, adrenaline pumping, heart racing, joy. 
Love is when you’re writing about your experiences and it feels like you’re singing in your head as you play the piano. 
Music is both brilliant and beautiful, just like the four letter word that some people dread to hear. 
Love to me is like going to the adoption center and finding the perfect little pal that’ll be there for me when no one else ever will be.
Love is when you’re at your breaking point, and the person is holding you, caressing you, reassuring you that everything ends up working out.
Love is knowing that good things come to an end, and the only thing that’ll ruin you is death. 
And even when that comes, you know your souls will find each other again in another life. 
That’s what I think like love is like.

I knew true love once
In a past life
As something else
I felt another beating heart
Recognized a scent
A voice
In some primeval darkness
A million years ago
And was safe

Now I am here and alone
Something separated us
Something as meaningless
As not coming back
to the tree that night
A hungry, bigger animal
A hunter and a knife
A rushing river and a last drowning scream
And a thought of me

The memory of abandonment
Must have followed me here
To this world of technology
Ringing phones and
blinking messages
I am afraid of being left
Alone in the dark
At the top of some windy tree
Clinging to a branch
With desperate fingers
Waiting ...

When I first met you
I thought you were cute...
Then we started to talk,
And I started to like you...
Then we started hanging out
And I started loving you...
Now I know you & your
Lieing, cheating personality...
And now, I hate you!
Funny how time changes things.

there are bullets from told centuries
in my bones but this year has
ensnared them with flowers
so that i have crumbled in prickle
and thorn; i am too feeble for
the battlefield now, i have lost
my luster, have been scrubbed down to
sullied brass and **** without
purpose.

i want to bleed
the rose petals out of me
and make myself
a target again.

my fingers are scarred with the snap
of war's bitter teeth; they have
sunken in and dragged, sunken in
and dragged me out until i have
touched my heart's heels to every
battlefield-- made me a canopy to
encompass every blood-embezzled
decade. i have made myself a
hideous phantasm of Vietnam,
a tattered, frayed mountain-scape of
blue-belled America, a depthless
sea in which my brothers boiled.
i still hear bombs when i walk
sometimes, in the dripping black
of the nighttime sky i see the way the
mortars ripple and burn. but i have
never found another stretched-thin
soldier, with artillery rounds cradled
in their chests like i. i have been stumbling
and crying across the earth's crust,
screaming,
DRAFT ME
FIND ME
DRAFT ME--
finally the draft plucked me up and
brought me to you.
in you i have found the brother i lost
at sea, the lover boy of 19th century,
and the one i held close to my chest in
Vietnam. let me touch my hand to
yours and remember; i know i
will feel all our old words course through me,
all our ****** teeth and
crying eyes and
all the times we touched
brought back to
this moment.