Love isn’t a shoulder, you see, we’re wasting our

Time driving casually down the sidestreets –

Memorizing choreographed sidesteps through the city.

Tell me, what is the color of an apology?

I guess I’ll never see. I won’t worry too much about

Your decency. I’ll get my inspiration

In anarchy.

Love isn’t a slowdance with ill-intentions through

Moonlit Skies. We’re wasting our time paying

Respects of desperate voices to Ol’ Blue Eyes.

Driving your car around the block a few times

Just to make certain those favorite lines landed safely

On the ground. Handshaking with Gravity for a job

Well done.

Love isn’t letting go—getting lost in their routine

And pattern of sleeping. Forgetting which toothbrush

Is yours and at what point you ended up with male clothes

In your laundry. Carelessly relocating home from your body

And placing it in another’s for vulnerable safe keepings. Smiling at

Vices until your facial muscles conspire and contract so even you

Believe them.

Love is saying all of the things you swore you would

Never speak—doing all the things you swore with dramatic

Eyerolling and calloused ears that you would

Never do. Thinking all of the thoughts you promised

In a fit of regret that you wouldn’t dare think. A never

Ending conversation interrupted by tedious

Daily living.

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