"they tell me to quit writing love poems, but fuck that- here’s a love poem to you. you with sheepish smile, you, the one who shies away from strangers arms, you blow my mind even in 30 degree weather. I’ve gotten so good at dreaming about you- so splendid, in fact, that I can almost feel your hands on my skin and your mouth close to mine; jeez you taste like the country, wheat tongue and hay flesh. I can’t help but to stare, you’ve drawn me in like small steel fragments to a supermagnet. you’ve gone and done it again, made me swoon through simple acts that children would find joy in; observing your footprints and throwing snowballs."

januarythirteenth 2011