I’m No Good At Writing Love Poems

If I told you that I felt Jupiter’s warmth on my lips,

heard the beaming rhythms that the moon breathes,

saw a celestial glow exploding away from your

body, each and every time you were with me,

you would tell me that I was crazy, shy away from

even a touch that was meant to tell you how much

I enjoy you near.

I don’t tell you that your laugh reminds me of the

first time I heard a love song, that would be silly,

then you’d know that I loved you. No, I don’t tell

you that. Instead, I tell you how much I love being

around you. I tell you, how much I enjoy your energy,

how much your mind makes mine smile, the way

you kiss my shoulder, my cheek, my heart,

the way you pretend that love is something that

you don’t need right here with me, or right now.

It’s weird, but I love that too, it provides me with

a challenge, something to look forward to when

you finally do tell me that you look at me the way

I look at you, which is the very way I look at life,

piecing meaning to breath,

a single breath that escapes itself from lung, travels

from the outside air back inside me, carving molecules

of oxygenated blood flow, moving itself like fresh

rain through body, blood stream pace its steps like

soldiers in the army, a vital process automatically

moving me forward as air circulates through nose

to mouth, from mouth to lung.

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