Love is like all human forged concepts in that love contains perpetuity.
Love like heaven.
Love like hell.
Love like hate.
Love like god.
Love like the captial g that I intentionally snub because G damn it, I don’t believe This is important.
None of these are real or true or good but they all go on forever, or as long as we let them.
The fools want forever. The fools need an infinite spanning of spit, sebum, and semen in which to roll their meaning into; Children and chores like checkers.
I like that love is short, brief, and goes on only as long as is agreed.
Love is the perfect dilemna. You want it as long as it suits you and when it begins to hurt you; Well, we just change the channel? We’re Americans.
There’s always something better to watch or someone better to turn on. And a mute button when the dirty dishes have piled up.
The truth of love is the same as is laughter. You do it because you’ve lived enough to know love is worth the pain of laughing with a broken rib.
It is the best medicine. The best sedative. The closest some come to a bipolar plunge of sheer madness, mania, or malaise.
Love is an empty pair of shoes beneath your bed. It is a quiet house where only your farts disrupt your chugging train of thought.
You know you had it, once, when you notice enough to miss it all.
Love is never the same and each time you’re taken less. You’re taken by love, less and less, until you’re not quite taken, but you’re just undressed.
Love is a burning sun and a drying rose; All cliche, but god Damn, we all come back for more.
So, it is Valentines Night. And you’ve reached the end of my poem. I want you to know, as you lick the lace trim of this line~~
I hold you completely
that I didn’t break
my lines where
I wanted you
to consider me
until just now
because unlike love,
heaven, hell, and hate–
this is the end
of a love poem written too late.