i dont write you love poems.
im about as subtle as a bullhorn
from the 2nd pew.
and men are flittish things.

but if i ever did
write that is for you some grand
profession of my feelings it would
jumble still i think and fumble all
the grace of all my words gone fractured
spilled like an alphabet soup
struck down by lightning
drips and cracks and bad allusions
splashed across the page...

but if i try to do you justice
i might let it slip i miss
your curves under the downy covers
the way you sing sinatra while you flip
our dinner flapjacks
in your apron at 330

ive always liked the way youve liked
my face when its naked clean and i am
missing just the coarseness of your hair between my fingers
your attempts at ninja stealth and sneak
your tied up scarves all your anal tendencies and ironed denim jeans

and not so secretly
beneath my shirt and skin
i think i love you
more than you or i had ever
ever thought to plan
or planned to write.

09/09/2008

Posted on 09/10/2008
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia