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This poem is thumping like a boulder at the bottom of a river And last year’s hit is fighting static on the radio We sat against the waves all day yesterday I still feel the rocking That anti-movement The best part of a meal is right when the food arrives I’d rather stay hungry than be satisfied to stop wanting to stop chasing I sleep on the ground to be farther away from you the whole time we were stock images choreographed feelings unrealistic props and a well timed photographer Now we’re stopping in yesterday’s parking lot and today’s hit has turned jarring. They’ll be running our circles long after we die. I made a dozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before my mother came home and took the knife out of my hand I’m running to you like you’re a pint of Ben & Jerry's and I'm lactose intolerant It stays in my mind like choking on medicine It’s like that pregnant silence when the waiter asks “together or separate?” It’s like driving up a mountain or criticizing the lack of representation in a Hallmark movie alone from my couch. There’s nothing poetic about stalking you on twitter. but it’s part of the story so here’s a stanza about it anyway. [Pause for effect] I hope next time we meet you’ll ask me how I am I’ll tell you I am super and both of us will believe it again I hope one of us will smile and say “0ne day” and the other will notice the typo.
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Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
matthew-matthew
Love Poem
This poem is thumping like a boulder at the bottom of a river And last year’s hit is fighting static on the radio We sat against the waves all day yesterday I still feel the rocking That anti-movement The best part of a meal is right when the food arrives I’d rather stay hungry than be satisfied to stop wanting to stop chasing I sleep on the ground to be farther away from you the whole time we were stock images choreographed feelings unrealistic props and a well timed photographer Now we’re stopping in yesterday’s parking lot and today’s hit has turned jarring. They’ll be running our circles long after we die. I made a dozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before my mother came home and took the knife out of my hand I’m running to you like you’re a pint of Ben & Jerry's and I'm lactose intolerant It stays in my mind like choking on medicine It’s like that pregnant silence when the waiter asks “together or separate?” It’s like driving up a mountain or criticizing the lack of representation in a Hallmark movie alone from my couch. There’s nothing poetic about stalking you on twitter. but it’s part of the story so here’s a stanza about it anyway. [Pause for effect] I hope next time we meet you’ll ask me how I am I’ll tell you I am super and both of us will believe it again I hope one of us will smile and say “0ne day” and the other will notice the typo.
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