Thursday, April 25, 2013

Love Lives

Love Lives

I won’t write this pretty
That’s not where love lives
It’s none of that shit we’re told

It is not red, heart-shaped chocolates
The very shape of love’s heart is a lie!

It isn’t in wildflower fields
Or eyes locked across rooms
It isn’t splendiferous romance copy
Or found on airport bookshelves
It isn’t in soap opera necking
Or teen coming-of-age dramas

The boy learns life’s lesson
And then wins the good girl
The girl triumphs over rivals
And then chooses the shy boy
Both are pretty, attractive tales
But that’s not where love lives

Love lives in inconvenient areas
It forces you out of bed to turn off the heat
Even though you’re still left in the cold

Love is that gasp you take involuntarily
When she smiles at you
Takes your hand into hers
And says, “Fuck-off, honey”
“For once, make your own goddamned dinner”
But you’re too lazy,
So you take her out to a restaurant instead

Love is a tedious mistress,
But never the other woman
It is a strange monotony
And a passionate habit

Love is a thief; it drinks from your cup
And though you’re still thirsty later,
You’re grateful to have had less

It is well-camouflaged within jealousy
Fooling you into trying to possess it
While chasing off other imaginary suitors

Love lives within that empty space
The vacuum pulling blood through
Heart chambers at warp speed when
it is first discovered,
is first declared,
is first betrayed,
And for the extremely fortunate,

When it is first mended

I won’t write this pretty
Love is not a fantastic fiction
It is real and comes with real risk

I won’t tell you to find true love
That’s not where love lives.

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